


Protection Mountain

by Ki_ru



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Budding Love, Emotional Baggage, Hand Jobs, Healthy Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, I won't lie it's a journey, Injury Recovery, Kissing, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Monty is everything he needs and more, Overcoming Obstacles, POV Alternating, Resolved Sexual Tension, Skittish Bandit turns into Wholesome Bandit, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-02 03:10:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16297088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ki_ru/pseuds/Ki_ru
Summary: It starts out as a few friendly gestures: a coffee, a jacket, a smile. Then a few actions: lending his warmth, spending the evening, chasing nightmares away.Montagne is soon forced to admit to himself that going out of his way this far to care for someone who never ceased to confuse him is far from normal and exceeds even his sense of responsibility for his colleagues. Bandit has a harder time accepting his own attachment to the gentle giant suddenly appearing in his life and meeting his skittish behaviour with patience and compassion - it takes them a while, but they eventually learn to compromise and communicate with each other.





	1. Bandit is cold

**Author's Note:**

> This was never meant to be what it ultimately became. [Magehir](https://magehir.tumblr.com/) and I were pondering how Bandit is probably cold a lot and wondering which of the operators would be a reliable source of heat, landing on Monty. We thought him hugging a shivering Bandit who then decides to rub against him now and then like a stray cat was really cute and so I wrote a single snippet about it. And ended up liking it so much I wrote another one. Then yet another.  
> By now, they're one of my most (if not _the_ ) favourite ships and I've written entirely too much about them considering I'm not even anywhere done. Everything about them soothes me and I'm delighted to see it's caught on. So to everyone who's accompanying me on this journey, everyone who supports and motivates me, reads, likes, replies, reblogs, comments, from the bottom of my heart: thank you.  
> Even though large parts of it were written out of order, I've decided to put them in chronological order despite the POV switching and possibly losing some of the context. I hope you enjoy reading ❤❤

Bandit is odd. Montagne has been watching him on and off ever since they joined Rainbow, out of the corner of his eye and with a lazy kind of curiosity – the kind where he gladly absorbs every piece of information he comes across yet refrains from seeking it out actively, doesn’t interrogate Bandit, doesn’t approach his GSG9 teammates, doesn’t question the people with whom he hangs around. It’s just that he pays extra attention whenever anyone brings up the notorious German and shelves it away together with all that he’s heard of him so far.

His conclusion: Bandit is odd.

Montagne has been serving his country for more than twenty-five years now and met a staggering variety of people on the job, some of them courageous, virtuous and possessing a strong sense of justice, some of them cowards, bigoted and unethical, and he has yet to meet a person for whom he wouldn’t die. It’s not up to him to decide who lives and who doesn’t, it’s his sworn duty to protect and so protect he does. He fulfils his obligations with a certain sense of pride and with iron discipline – there’s a reason he’s still on active duty and it’s that he’s not only passionate about but also good at what he does. He works best in a team and strives to shield the men and women by his side from any and all harm.

Bandit… doesn’t. He’s cynical, disillusioned, him insulting someone while he’s meant to be professional isn’t a rare occurrence. He acts like his job is yet another obstacle in life he has to overcome, drags his feet and antagonises the people with whom he’s supposed to function seamlessly, and when he speaks of his work, he does so disparagingly. He’s a bit of a lone wolf, too, carries his burdens alone and usually lashes out whenever someone offers to share them. He’s sharp and if anyone spends too much time with him, they inevitably end up bleeding.

 

“The fuck do you mean you didn’t get me a coffee?”, Bandit snarls as he passes the cup on to one of the pale, quiet people who are sitting in the back of their van, most of them wrapped in blankets and wide eyed. They’ve been here for an hour already, out in the cold while waiting for anyone to take these poor people away so everyone can go home. Montagne deals well with frigid climates, his body is not unlike an oven in that it usually produces a ridiculous amount of excess heat which keeps him warm throughout the year (and positively toasty in summer, his least favourite season).

“I told you I can’t carry that much”, Kapkan barks a response which is just as irritated. “Maybe you’ll get a coffee after you’ve been held hostage by a few wannabe terrorists for almost a day.” Much more politely, he turns to his fellow countrymen in the vehicle and says something in his mother tongue which sparks a few tentative smiles. He’s used to this weather and doesn’t seem to be struggling with the icy cold air either – unlike Bandit who’s actually shivering.

Montagne takes pity on him, borrows some local money from Kapkan and sets out again, wades through the fluffy snow and returns to find his two colleagues laughing and joking around with the victims of today’s hostage situation, the atmosphere having lightened considerably. Bandit is apparently using Google translate on his phone to communicate, to which Kapkan chortles before explaining to him what exactly it is he just said. And while Montagne smiles to himself upon seeing the two goof around purely for the benefit of the civilians, it means that Bandit had to take off his gloves to type.

“Oh fuck, you’re a lifesaver.” He sounds uncharacteristically grateful, plucks one of the cups out of Montagne’s hands and holds it with stiff fingers, simply warming them on the cardboard for a second while looking like a drowned cat which is trying to put on a brave face. Montagne sighs and does what he’d do for any other operator in this situation: pull him close and put his arms around him. It’s more of a side-hug because he doesn’t want to interfere with Bandit’s coffee, but the German struggles a bit still, attempts to escape his grasp and complains rudely but when Montagne makes no move to let him go, he eventually relaxes and even leans into him after a while. Once he’s stopped shivering, he twists out of the embrace and goes back to distracting the Russians as if nothing happened.

 

This is why Bandit is odd: ultimately, he does everything Montagne does. He has no doubt Bandit would sacrifice himself for the rest of his team, that he’d do everything in his power to rescue civilians. He regularly goes the extra mile to ensure lives are being saved, he trains hard and does well at his job. He even does _good_. The main discrepancy between the two of them is his attitude, and the more Montagne watches him, the less he understands it. Part of him wants to shake Bandit and try to talk some sense into him, tell him to pull himself together.

Another part feels a strange, deep-seated admiration for this man who pretends to do so little yet does so much.

 

Bandit has bad circulation. It’s just one of many details Montagne has noticed over time, has added up the pale skin, layers upon layers of clothes and general grumpiness whenever the temperature drops below a certain point and arrived at this conclusion – Bandit’s hands are almost always icy and sometimes, he even seeks people out to leech their warmth, sits uncomfortably close to others or just happens to lean against them. Montagne eventually becomes a target as well after Bandit realises he’s a reliable source of heat and Montagne doesn’t mind. He’d do the same for everyone, has rubbed Twitch’s arms before until she could feel them again, held Rook’s hands until they weren’t as cold as a corpse anymore, so it’s no trouble to put a hand around Bandit’s shoulders or pull him closer by the waist.

When they’re alone, Bandit is even more obvious about it, just sinks into his arms or presses himself against his back for a few minutes and leaves again. They don’t talk much, never have, and what is there to say anyway? Montagne takes care of those around him and Bandit needs him. Still, he notices his gaze lingering on the slim frame for longer than necessary whenever Bandit has gotten what he came for and stalks off again. It’s a bit like getting visited by a stray cat.

Therefore, when Bandit forgets his jacket now and then, Montagne has no qualms about lending him his own. It’s almost comical to watch as Bandit nearly disappears in it but when he notices Montagne’s grin, he huffs, wraps himself in the warmed up piece of clothing and leaves, as usual. He always gets the jacket back, so he doesn’t mind when Bandit borrows it again a few days later. And again after that.

Bandit becomes really quite forgetful about his own jacket which he used to love so much.

 

One morning, Montagne wakes to the sound of birdsong, his body refusing to sleep any more. This happens sometimes, though it’s thankfully rare, and so he gets up without grumbling, dresses and wonders whether he should watch the sun rise. It’s early spring, the nights still cold but getting shorter. He decides to grab an early breakfast, walks the empty corridors towards the canteen while trying not to make too much noise and enjoys the quiet serenity of an extremely early morning, looking forward to spending it however he wants.

All his thoughts come to a grinding halt as soon as he steps inside the large room, however, a lone figure standing by a window and staring out into the near darkness, gripping the windowsill so hard the knuckles have turned white. When he hears Montagne, he turns around. He looks like death, face ashen, clearly hasn’t slept a minute last night, possibly not the night before either. For a moment, they just stare at each other, Montagne trying to come up with something to say or something to do yet is petrified. Bandit is the one who breaks the silence between them.

“I’m cold”, he says and his voice breaks on the second word and Montagne finally understands.

He holds the trembling body close, allows Bandit’s fists to clench in his shirt and listens to him taking deep, measured breaths. He’s unable to help with his sleep, incapable of chasing away whatever keeps him awake, probably can’t drive out the ice which has settled deep into Bandit’s bones, covered his thoughts in a frost so sharp and persistent it shows on the outside, but he can try. Maybe over time he’ll succeed.

For now, all he can do is warm Bandit’s body, rest a hand on the back of his neck and press the two of them together, hope to transfer enough of his own heat to stop the shivering.


	2. Bandit reluctantly accepts affection

It’s dumb. It’s just an arm. Not only that, it’s a fucking cliché gesture, overdone and cheesy and would usually make him roll his eyes if he saw it on screen and produce gagging noises if he saw it in real life. One of the oldest ways to show possessiveness, always leaving an unpleasant aftertaste in his mouth whenever anyone just assumed they could put an arm around his shoulders, even more so when his superiors did it. It was rare but it happened and he felt like shaking himself like a dog afterwards, just to get rid of this _I own you_ feeling.

And yet, here he sits, Montagne’s arm around him, and has vowed to never move again. They’re watching some film or other, something stupid and filled with action he’s not following because he’s too busy having an internal crisis over the limb draped over him, weighing him down slightly, giving off a reassuring warmth. It shouldn’t feel this elating and yet it does, funnels all his attention towards the fingers he feels curled around his upper arm even through the blanket in which he’s wrapped. The thumb is stroking up and down, a soothing motion though it does nothing to calm Bandit’s nerves. Nothing at all.

His back is killing him, he really needs to adjust his position but worries the arm will disappear if he moves despite knowing it’s not the first time they’ve sat like this. Despite knowing Montagne usually subtly invites him in. They barely talk and this, too, makes him anxious – he has absolutely no idea what’s going on in the Frenchman’s head, whether he thinks he’s doing Bandit a favour or whether he’s taking pity on him. Maybe he doesn’t even _like_ him. It’s a realistic possibility, they don’t really have anything in common, don’t hang out unless Bandit would otherwise spend the evening alone, and when they do they don’t communicate a lot. Montagne sometimes tries, and a few times they’ve had actual conversations, but that doesn’t mean anything, does it? He just doesn’t understand why Montagne is still here, allows him to steal his warmth, when all he does is – nothing, basically, he does _nothing_ for him, he doesn’t deserve this warmth, doesn’t deserve the peace this man brings, the inexplicable shows of affection – because you _don’t_ just sit on a couch and cuddle with someone you don’t like, right? That’s not something people _do_ , nothing Bandit could ever imagine doing, and yet the doubt persists and burns under his fingernails, permeates his brain at the most inopportune moments, moments in which he’s vulnerable already, open for attack by his own thoughts turning on him -

The hand lifts, comes to rest on the side of his head, right behind his ear, fingers gently stroking through his hair, over his scalp. A shiver runs down his spine from the distracted gesture; it’s so _comforting_ that his mind comes to a grinding halt, stops right then and there to assess the situation. Now’s not the time to fret, instead he should enjoy it while it lasts, accept the lovely gesture for what it is and not second guess Montagne’s motives. He gives in and puts his head on Montagne’s shoulder. The hand follows, cards through his hair, grounds him.

“Are you comfortable?”, Montagne murmurs after a few minutes.

Bandit just nods. He knows better than to put into words just how comfortable he really is, and instead merely adjusts his position so his back isn’t killing him anymore, melts against Montagne’s side and closes his eyes when the arm is put around him: once again, a reassuring weight. Time to continue not watching this film.

 

When Bandit wakes up the next time, he’s encased in an embrace he didn’t anticipate. It takes him a few moments to figure out just what happened and how they’re arranged on the sofa until he realises Montagne is lying down, legs outstretched, and Bandit largely on top of him, back warmed by the Frenchman’s broad chest, torso hugged tightly and calm breaths tickling his hair. It seems the other man is still asleep, his regular breathing gently making Bandit rise and sink, and so he snuggles into the hug, rubs the top of his head on Montagne’s jaw, extracts one of his hands from the blanket in which he’s wrapped to stroke over Montagne’s upper arm. He’ll have to leave soon, he definitely doesn’t want Montagne to wake up like this, but he’s so _warm_.

It’s a mystery to him how Montagne unfailingly radiates heat as if it took no effort – the man really is an oven. Not only that, he seems to have no trouble in letting Bandit sleep _on_ him though this implies a whole range of things Bandit is absolutely not ready to face yet. For now, he has to flee and hope no one saw -

A small noise makes his eyes fly open. He probably looks just as shocked as Rook who’s standing a few metres away and apparently froze mid-chew upon spotting the two people on the couch. For a while, neither of them moves a muscle.

“I saw nothing”, Rook then whispers, turns around on his heel and leaves without any further complications.

Okay. He really should – this needs to stop. It was the first night he slept in Montagne’s arms and he’ll make sure it’ll be the _last_ one, too, he can’t keep doing this. He’s starting to rely on someone else and that is in no way acceptable, not when he already can’t rely on himself. It’s a burden he doesn’t want anyone else to shoulder, least this man who would probably bear anyone’s weight if they asked. No. He won’t add to it.

Carefully, he wiggles out of the tight hug and is about to throw his blanket over the large figure when he pauses. He’s seen Montagne sleep before, once or twice, but never at dawn, never bathed in golden sunlight and without worries, face smooth. On a whim, he picks up his phone from the table and takes a photo. Then he leaves.

When Blitz asks him about his red cheeks a minute later, Bandit tells him to shut up.


	3. They talk little but say a lot

Something wakes him, makes him drift into this hybrid state of both being conscious yet drowsing simultaneously and it takes him a minute to realise what it was that alerted him: the notification light is blinking forlornly in the darkness, a beacon of attempted communication. He picks up his phone, mind still muddled from sleep, and checks his messages. There’s only one from a polysyllabic name which he always shortens in his head to no more than three letters – three letters with which he associates so much. It reads: _you up?_ Were he to scroll up, he’d see that the only other messages they exchanged are work related, quick inquiries, impersonal, sterile, practical.

This one isn’t. It’s neither of those things which is the only reason Montagne replies: _pk?_ He doesn’t know whether he should get up and get dressed or prepare for a call, this hasn’t happened before so he doesn’t know what to expect. In return, he receives a singular question mark which mocks his sleepy brain because he wrote ‘why’ in French, not English, so no wonder Bandit doesn’t understand it. Before he can correct himself, a word appears on his screen which tells him all he needs to know: _lounge_.

So, getting up and getting dressed it is.

 

He made a mistake.

Ultimately, he doesn’t blame himself as it was impossible for him to have guessed it, to anticipate Bandit’s reaction, but that doesn’t help in the moment. He should’ve known _something_ would happen just from having watched Bandit for this long. The German operator crackles with unspent energy, he’s like a live wire dancing on the floor, fascinating to look at yet fatal when touched – he despises nothing more than waiting and therefore regularly causes events, creates occurrences which interrupt the tension that builds up after too much nothing. And before Montagne’s misstep, the base had been quiet for too long.

For a while, it was nice. It mostly doesn’t take much longer than a quick peek into the lounge or outside or the canteen or wherever he saw Bandit last, makes sure he’s in good company, and then Montagne can sleep without worry. If he finds Bandit alone, the plan changes. He buys snacks or something interesting to drink with which he doesn’t treat himself normally, digs up or borrows a film or finds something else to do. It eats into his own sleep schedule but seeing as it happens maybe once a week, it doesn’t interfere with his general well-being.

Neither of them acknowledge it. Bandit takes his company largely for granted, never asks why he’s not in bed, usually complains about his choice of film or food but ends up falling asleep after a few hours nonetheless, sometimes with his head on one of the tables in the canteen, sometimes against Montagne’s shoulder, sometimes alone in a plushy seat. Wherever it is, Montagne makes sure to carry him to the nearest sofa, drape a blanket over him and then returns to his own room to rest as well. They don’t talk about it. During the day, they do whatever they normally do and hardly interact unless Bandit forgot his jacket. He’s been forgetting it less and less.

And then Montagne ruins it. He says: “You can just text if you need me.” He had to hunt Bandit down, finds him in the workshop and drops this sentence which turns Bandit’s expression stony, makes him physically distance himself.

“I don’t fucking need you”, he replies. And just like that, he’s gone.

 

Since then, nothing. Montagne respects his wish for privacy and thinks not about absent-minded touches, the way his clothes smell when a permanently cool body has either worn or rested against them, how peaceful it was to witness Bandit doze off in his presence, wholly relaxed, often wrapped in a blanket already or otherwise pressing up against him. He pushes these memories, these scenes inside his head away because admitting their absence would sting. Better to pretend they never existed in the first place.

Only now it all comes crashing back due to a few words displayed on a screen in the middle of the night. Who is he to refuse this show of trust? Navigating the hallways in the dark has become easy after the first few times of stumbling and fumbling – he wants to avoid waking anyone up lest their presence shatters whatever opportunity he might get now. He doesn’t even know what to anticipate or what to hope for, only knows that he _needs_ to be there.

The TV is flickering with the sound on low, some rerun of a B-movie Montagne hasn’t seen but the fast-paced scenes don’t catch his attention anyway, no, the slim silhouette perched on one of the uncomfortable chairs however does. Bandit jumps up as soon as he hears him, ready for action yet uncertain on the details, sways in his direction but holds himself back. He’s hesitating and so Montagne decides for him – but when he approaches, hands on his cheeks stop him, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones, cool palms on his skin. The gesture is unambiguous though Bandit doesn’t dare to bring it to conclusion, is probably riddled with self-doubt. “I was wrong”, he says quietly and even if Montagne might not get an apology for the sudden silence and avoidance, this is still an admission he didn’t expect.

His hands find their way to Bandit’s waist, hold him in place and he feels Bandit’s electricity thrumming in his fingertips. He leans in, is stopped by a short press of cold hands and now their faces are mere centimetres apart, Bandit looking scared and like a trapped animal, eyes wide and flitting over Montagne’s face. “I need you too”, Montagne replies without even thinking about it because he can’t lie to himself any longer, can’t pretend he’s merely watching out for his team – all of this goes so far beyond his normal sense of duty that the excuse doesn’t work anymore.

Bandit kisses like a desperate man, takes and takes like someone who’s used to everything nice being fleeting, like someone who might be denied any second. He pants and mewls into Montagne’s mouth, licks it open and gasps when he’s simply picked up. This part is familiar, Montagne carries him to the nearest couch, only this time Bandit ends up in his lap, restless and still kissing him as if his life depended on it.

It’s over as abruptly as Bandit started it, he buries his face in the crook of Montagne’s neck and scoots closer, as close as he can but doesn’t start relaxing before Montagne embraces him. They stay like this, his lips burning, teeth remembering the feel of Bandit’s tongue, heart racing. He cards a hand through Bandit’s hair and waits.

“I don’t want to sleep.” His voice is small and shaky. “No one knows some of the things I’ve done. But I know. I can’t _not_ know. It’s not letting me rest.”

“You did it for a good cause, Dom.” Somehow, it feels like they’ve had this conversation before – numerous times – when it’s the first he’s hearing of this.

“No. I did it because I could. Because I could get away with it.”

Montagne doesn’t believe him. Based on everything he knows about him, he _can_ picture Bandit performing ruthless, cold-blooded actions but they’re never without cost. They would haunt him. He pays his price. “I’m sorry. I wish I did, but I don’t know how to help you.”

“You are”, Bandit objects softly. “You already are.”

It’s good enough for the moment, he’ll take what he can get. Words burn on his tongue, concessions about how worried he is, how glad about Bandit’s trust in him, how much he missed his prickly company yet he doesn’t get to say them, Bandit’s counterpart swipes them off, steals them for himself and answers the unspoken question of whether the kiss before was merely a manifestation of loneliness or… or _more_. This one is more deliberate – still messy but deep and slower and Montagne has an easier time reciprocating it.

Neither of them acknowledge it: when it’s over, Bandit curls into him and stays silent in his arms. Once he’s fallen asleep, Montagne carefully stretches him out on the sofa, wraps him in a blanket and wonders whether he should try raising the point that Bandit might sleep better in Montagne’s room if his presence calms him down. For now, all he does is lie down on the opposite couch so that he’ll be there if Bandit wakes up again in the middle of the night. He falls asleep to quiet breaths and the feeling of lips on his own.


	4. Early dates are meant to be awkward, right?

Knowing your surroundings is half the battle. Bandit likes to be aware of everything happening around him, keeps his back to the wall, unfocuses his gaze so he can track movement more easily and prefers knowing exactly what he’s up against – it’s an old habit, began in school when there was a group of boys who decided they didn’t like him or his brother, so they had to be careful not to get caged in, not to be caught unaware or else the consequences would be bad. When he was undercover, the need for it increased manifold, he was _required_ to know exactly who was in his vicinity at all times, what people thought of him, how he could win them over. He can be charming but it’s rarely sincere, more of a skill he honed out of necessity, not something he enjoys.

And yet he can’t figure Montagne out.

No matter how large the hole he stares into his broad back, no matter on how many conversations he eavesdrops, no matter how often they interact, he just doesn’t understand him. It’s a mystery why he’s this nice to Bandit, why he allows him to borrow his jacket constantly despite Bandit quite obviously forgetting it on purpose. Why he allowed Bandit to kiss him.

Why he kissed back.

There’s a rising violent urge inside him, something which wants him to bury his claws deep into Montagne’s flesh, carve him up, mark him as _his_ (even though he isn’t, can’t be), scratch him up and make him bleed. He can only guess as to why, either he wants to drive him away before Bandit can hurt him even more (because the wounds inside are usually worse, right, a cut heals but a broken heart will likely be put together wrong), or he’s harbouring feelings which are so strong he doesn’t know what to do about them. It might be both. He just knows that he looks at the tall man and his stomach flutters and he doesn’t like it. Because he has no idea how to deal with it.

Montagne does so much for him that Bandit might have to avoid him in the future – he doesn’t like owing debts, feels inadequate in the presence of his benefactors and he’s considering telling Montagne to stop it, stop checking up on him, stop seeking his company, yet he’s too selfish; he basks in Montagne’s attention like a cat in the sun, stretches into it and purrs contentedly. He feels calm around him. He notices his thoughts slowing down, his body involuntarily relaxing, exhausted from the strain he puts on it by keeping it on alert at all times. Montagne is good for him and that exactly is the problem because Bandit definitely isn’t for him, how could he be. He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve him.

And yet, here he is, a tall figure next to him wearing a gentle smile meant for no one but him. They’re alone in the workshop, Bandit keeping his hands busy and trying not to think too much when a mountain approached him and asked whether he’s hungry and as a matter of fact, he is. He doesn’t say yes though. He wants to know: “Why?”

“Because I am. The chip shop down the road is still open, I think. We can go there.”

 _We_. Montagne probably knows he’s starving but doesn’t blame him, simply invites him to tag along as if he was doing it for his own benefit only and not Bandit’s. He finds himself nodding – it’s late enough that most people are about to sleep or begin their nightly routine of showering, exercising or whatever it is normal people with normal sleep schedules do, so chances are no one will see them. And even if they do, it’s a singular occurrence. Right?

On the way, they chat about this and that, some possible gadgets with which Twitch came up, the film they last watched together, current events. Bandit is always slightly nervous when being alone with the Frenchman, expects to say something which puts him off, to fail to find some common ground between them, an icy silence settling between them, but Montagne feels comfortable in his own skin (unlike Bandit), and so he somehow manages to keep conversation flowing. He’s nothing but reliable in pretty much all aspects, predictable in a way too but without being boring. There are no nasty surprises, no sudden jeering or mocking. Montagne is safe.

 

Watching him eat greasy chips with his fingers is odd. He usually has excellent table manners and fits what Bandit would jokingly call a gentleman, he enjoys well-made food and the finer things in life, so him dirtying his fingers while pushing the deep fried potato sticks between his lips isn’t a sight Bandit sees often. He can’t help but stare until Montagne asks him whether there’s anything wrong with his food and Bandit unsuccessfully tries to fight down the blood rushing to his cheeks. He’s mesmerising, in a way, his eyes soft, strong muscles mainly used for protection, not for causing harm, and whatever he does, it’s deliberate. He’s the opposite of clumsy, he’s thoughtful and conscious of his own actions while still being confident – he doesn’t fell decisions impulsively though he sometimes does allow his feelings to get the better of him. But it’s rare.

Bandit realises he’s _still_ staring when Montagne smiles at him and feeds him a chip to break him out of his daze, the tips of his fingers touching Bandit’s lips and leaving a burning feeling behind which intensifies when the savage rage returns. He wants to bury his teeth in Montagne and for a moment, he’s dizzy with how much he has to hold himself back. He’s scared. He doesn’t want to hurt him.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to eating vinegar on chips”, Montagne remarks conversationally.

It’s safe territory, he should talk about the food as well even though he’s barely nibbled at it because he was too busy marvelling at this man who somehow _likes_ his company. “Thank you”, he says instead and barely resists smacking himself when Montagne looks up, astonished. Quickly, he adds: “Salt and vinegar crisps are even worse, they taste like fucking cleaning products.”

He made it awkward. The rest of the meal he’s itching to get away because he’s sure Montagne is tired of his presence despite him being nothing but pleasant (but he always is, isn’t he, no matter to whom he’s talking), and when they’re done and have cleaned up, Montagne reaches out to brush his knuckles over Bandit’s cheek but he ducks away, embarrassed, ashamed, and that only makes it worse. Now it looks like he doesn’t welcome his touch when he just doesn’t want it out here, in the open, with a burning face and hands shoved into his pockets, feigning nonchalance when he just wants to hide.

They part, Montagne with friendly words and Bandit with a mumbled reply and a sinking feeling in his stomach; the impression of somehow having made an ass of himself lingering uncomfortably. He makes it to his room and resigns himself to another lonely night as there’s no way he’s going to ask for anyone’s company like this, not when he’s confused and angry at himself and simultaneously longing for and fearing Montagne’s touch.

He looks at his empty bed. He listens to the silence. His fingers are itching.

The door opens quickly after the first knock which is a blessing because then Bandit can’t change his mind, has no time to obsess about what he’s going to say. Montagne moves out of the way as soon as he sees him, assumes he wants to come inside (which he very much does), and he’s an angel. He doesn’t ask questions, fills the silence with pleasant chatter as he moves around the room, getting ready for bed; he acts as if all of this were normal, as if Bandit had every reason and right to be here, as if this was a welcome surprise. He implies that he needs his sleep today because he has to get up early the next day but Bandit is invited to stay, sleep on the couch or in his bed or _with Montagne in his bed_ and he feels like crying. Tears are prickling at the corners of his eyes and he makes sure to wipe them away only when Montagne’s back is turned to him.

He hasn’t felt _at home_ in such a long while it takes him a bit to identify the feeling. The room is familiar enough but nothing else is, they’ve never slept in the same bed, only kissed twice that one night and yet Montagne is ready to welcome him with open arms. He will never know what it means to Bandit because he’s never going to tell him (but he’s defeated, defenceless, disarmed). This man is going to be the death of him.

“Please kiss me”, he pleads quietly, voice shaking and fingers trembling, his anxiousness skyrocketing when Montagne turns to look at him, simply _look_ at him for a few seconds. Bandit needs this. He needs some kind of affirmation that it’s not just his imagination or wishful thinking.

And Montagne does. He does it like he does everything else, deliberately, with purpose. Warm hands gently cup Bandit’s face, tilt it up slightly, and then soft lips meet his. He’s restless at first, pushes for more but Montagne decides the points when to deepen the kiss, when their tongues slide over each other, when it all becomes intimate and deep and elating. The longer it lasts, the more Bandit feels himself calm down. It quells the urge to take and take, to rip and push and punch.

Later, when he’s safely encased in Montagne’s arms, listening to his calm breaths and steady heartbeat, when his body heat engulfs him like the sun itself, when he takes Montagne’s hand and carefully interlaces their fingers only because he knows him to be asleep, he realises it’s gone. It’s all gone – probably just for the moment. but there’s an all-encompassing peace inside him and it grows when Bandit presses closer to the large body at his back.


	5. They go a step further

“That’s nothing”, Bandit laughs around his cigarette and takes it out before he continues, “my record is six.”

“ _Six_?”, Smoke repeats in disbelief and sips some more of the cheap Irish whisky he so loves. “In one night?”

“In one night. Three at the same time, which helped with efficiency since I didn’t have to chat them all up individually.” The two of them laugh. “It counts though, I fucked them all. Two women and one dude – he wasn’t sure at first but I convinced him to try it out and guess what? He was the only one of the three to contact me again.”

“Nice. What about the other three?”

Montagne turns a page of his newspaper while attempting to memorise the few interesting articles he pretended to read yet didn’t catch a word of. His hearing is excellent and so he can calmly keep on ‘reading’ today’s news at the other end of the canteen while Bandit and Smoke elaborate on their sexual escapades seemingly in private. He’s heard enough to assume they would mock him openly were he to disclose his own – or what he considers to be his own, simple spur of the moment decisions, a few risky endeavours which worry him to this day and that’s pretty much it. He doesn’t take the topic lightly, considers it a monumental display of trust, profound affection and mutual attraction which goes deeper than skin to allow someone else access to his body.

He doesn’t judge either of them for their differing views, however, accepts that his values might be old-fashioned or even outdated. They treat themselves and others differently than he would and ultimately, there’s nothing inherently wrong with it. If he’s honest, a small part of him is vaguely envious of all their adventures if only for the added experience. He suspects that when it comes to pleasuring anyone, Bandit is miles ahead of him, might think him unskilled or even incompetent. It plays a not insignificant role in why they haven’t proceeded past mere kisses despite Bandit’s increasingly insistent suggestions.

Eventually, he decides he’s had enough of staring at letters which blur in front of his eyes, folds the page and gets up to return to his room seeing as it’s late, the spring sun already long set. He doesn’t expect Bandit to follow seeing as he should be settled for company until he’s tired enough to fall asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow but he hears the German starting to make excuses to Smoke before he’s even out the door. With a slight smile, he waits outside and relishes the startled expression on Bandit’s face when he almost runs into him just a few seconds later, much to Bandit’s chagrin. He doesn’t like when Montagne anticipates his actions and therefore grumbles a little on the way to Montagne’s room.

“We’re just going to sleep.” He wants to be upfront about it, doesn’t want to mislead Bandit and implicitly lets him know nothing is going to happen, as usual, even less today when his self confidence suffered from the boasting he overheard.

“Yeah”, Bandit responds nonchalantly as he steps into the room which he seems to occupy more and more frequently, “it’s fine.” No pouting, no complaints? It really seems that way, he’s moving about and getting ready without hopeful or accusing looks and Montagne is so astonished that he barely catches his next words, uttered without eye contact: “I just like being here.”

Montagne freezes. There’s a pink tint to Bandit’s cheeks now even as he avoids Montagne’s gaze so it’s not just a clever ploy, an attempt to manipulate him. A reply seems necessary, something equally sweet which will fluster Bandit, make him switch topics so fast it’s a miracle neither of them ends up with whiplash but Montagne doesn’t feel like teasing him right now. He likes having Bandit over as well, has become accustomed to the lithe body next to him in bed, snoring softly and usually pressing their backs together. Sometimes, he wakes up to Bandit clinging to him and tightening his embrace if he tries to move, sometimes Bandit is draped over him or hugging one of his arms which is how he knows he dreamt badly. If he’s still awake, Montagne pulls him closer and pets his hair – and if he’s not, Montagne does the same still.

Words seem inadequate to express the fundamental peace he experiences whenever Bandit sleeps in his arms and so he walks up to him instead, leans slightly down and brushes his lips over Bandit’s, reciprocates when he deepens the kiss and soon they’re just standing there, kissing tenderly and even now Bandit doesn’t push for more despite how intimate it is. And he – he’s attractive, Montagne was aware of that before, accredits it partly to Bandit’s confidence and partly to his indifference, but now he’s seen Bandit in different, more vulnerable contexts and they make him seem _stunning_.

He gathers his courage. He’s made his mind up a while ago anyway, had to do some soul searching in the meantime, but now he’s sure – he wants this man, wants to make him feel good even if he’s not entirely sure how or whether whatever he can offer will be adequate. Regardless, he wants to try and so his hands don’t stay on Bandit’s waist as usual but dip under his hoodie, come into contact with bare skin and earn a gasp in return. They keep wandering, explore Bandit’s torso and only interrupt the snogging when they touch the waistband of Bandit’s jeans. Bandit breaks the kiss and whispers an emphatic: “ _Yes_. Yes. Please.” Still, he leaves it at that, presents himself as willing but allows Montagne to choose his actions carefully and that alone is an unexpected turn on. He’s handing himself over.

Montagne claims his lips once again and takes his time with unbuttoning and unzipping Bandit’s jeans, pushes them over his hips and glances down to find him – much to his surprise – fully hard already, his erection outlined in his underwear and giving a feeble twitch. Gingerly, Montagne touches it through the fabric while keeping their mouths occupied and is granted a small, desperate moan in return. The flesh is hot to the touch even if the rest of Bandit isn’t, and extremely sensitive, strains towards Montagne’s experimental fingers and fills him with confidence. He must be doing _something_ right if Bandit is clinging to him like this already, face flushed and out of breath. He looks dazed when Montagne rids him of his briefs as well, sways in place unsteadily and bites his lip in anticipation.

Bandit very willingly follows him to the bed, allows Montagne to move and guide him until he’s straddling Montagne’s hips, stiff member jutting out and begging to be touched yet Bandit merely pushes Montagne’s shirt up so he can stroke over his bare chest. Montagne, lying on his back, looks up at him, and realises with worrying clarity that he’s not only attractive, he’s _beautiful_ like this, a helpless look on his imploring face, and when he closes his fingers around the silky shaft, Bandit’s eyes threaten to fall shut. He remains passive, allows Montagne to set the pace and simply encourages him with small moans while he rolls the foreskin back, brushes over the tip and encircles his head. He tries to find all the sensitive spots that make Bandit cant his hips into the touch, memorises them religiously and exploits them by rubbing over them, massaging them gently.

A soft _oh fuck_ lets him know he’s on the right track, Bandit’s eyes half-lidded and dark, his hands doing nothing more than holding on as he’s perched on top of Montagne, pressing his ass into his crotch and whining when the hesitant caresses turn into proper strokes. As a start, Montagne goes with what he prefers himself, a tight grip and slow movements from the base to the tip though he suspects Bandit would do it much faster – this is about exploration, though, getting to know his body, possibly teasing him a little. Besides, Bandit is giving no indication of disliking any part of it, his breathing heavy and the noises he makes appreciative, so Montagne continues, twists his wrist on the upstrokes and speeds up a little. He likes feeling Bandit’s weight on top of him but ponders whether he should make him lie down instead so he can taste his skin, kiss his body.

For now, he uses his other hand to stroke over Bandit’s chest, traces his ribs under his hoodie and watches his expression slowly morph into something reverent – and then Bandit tenses up underneath his palm, a vague panic lining his features and he comes with a loud groan, seems more surprised about it than even Montagne as his erection throbs in his grip, accompanied by contractions Montagne can feel under his fingertips. Hot, viscous liquid hits his bare chest and paints it white while he massages Bandit through it, prolongs his orgasm with practised motions and only stops when Bandit puts a hand on his wrist, breathing heavily through parted lips. It was… sudden. And unexpectedly fast.

“Oh”, says Bandit who only now seems to fully realise what just happened, followed by him blushing furiously and hastily climbing off to put his underwear back on and wipe Montagne’s chest clean. He curses under his breath while doing so, throws the soiled tissues to the ground carelessly and joins Montagne on the bed again, snuggling up to his side, hiding his face and pointedly ignoring Montagne’s wide, happy smile. “That wasn’t”, he mumbles into Montagne’s shoulder, “I normally -”

Montagne turns to him so they’re face to face and kisses him briefly. “Was that alright, did it feel good?” A small nod. It seems to be genuine, so Montagne is overjoyed – the most plausible explanation is that Bandit has been looking forward to being touched by him so much that he couldn’t control himself and this thought makes a lovely warmth rise up in him. It seems he was worrying about nothing even if Bandit seems deeply embarrassed. “You’re so handsome”, he tells him earnestly and suppresses a chuckle when the red on Bandit’s cheeks darkens. He’s still avoiding his gaze, starts to take off his hoodie and drag the blanket over his naked legs, so Montagne gets up and dresses down to his underpants as well before slipping under the covers. They entangle their limbs and though Bandit undoubtedly notices Montagne’s excited member, he doesn’t try to get his hands on it.

Still, he murmurs: “If you keep holding out on me, I’m going to come in my pants the second I’m allowed to suck you off.”

“I’m not holding out on you”, Montagne responds seriously to what he knows was meant as a joke yet represents the way Bandit seems to think: sex as a reward of some kind, performed purely for its own sake, when Montagne sees it as so much more. “I just want to make sure we’re on the same page first.”

Bandit is quiet for a long while, so long that Montagne starts thinking he fell asleep until he suddenly says: “Yeah. We are. I know what you’re saying and it’s exactly why I want it so much.”

And Montagne is speechless. It’s as close to a confession as it’ll get for now, but a confession it is – Bandit shares his desire for emotional proximity after all, it’s just… Bandit was a step further than him. He must know how much Montagne cares about him whereas Montagne’s self-doubts clouded his judgement, made him believe Bandit might not be as invested as he is. This, however, is a reassurance. It’s reciprocated. All of it is and it’s more than Montagne hoped for, so he tightens his embrace in relief.

Next time, he’ll try to make Bandit feel even better.


	6. Monty looks decidedly too inviting

At this point, it’s moved long past _worrying_ into the territory of _genuinely concerning_. There’s a lot of things about Montagne which frighten him, partly his urge to lay claim to him in whichever way possible, partly how deceptively easy his company is, partly the ever-present fear of losing him one way or another. He’s gotten attached and can’t deny it, but none of this is on Bandit’s mind right now, not _now_. Not when he’s got a half naked Montagne to admire.

What concerns him is the fact that a single kiss by this gorgeous _God_ in front of him reduces him to a drooling mess already. It doesn’t matter what he does, he’s tried jerking off before they sleep in the same bed but all it achieved was to strengthen the desire for physical proximity, in turn prompting Montagne to be even more affectionate than usual and Bandit _still_ ended up with a hard-on. He’s counted sheep, thought of the most revolting things yet Montagne easily penetrates his concentration by humming into his ear or, worse, spooning him, or, _even worse_ , letting Bandit spoon _him_. He’s spent a few hours total with Montagne’s perfectly sculpted ass pressed against his crotch, quietly panting against this breathtaking back of his and holding on to his shapely hipbone while frantically trying not to hump him or wake him up or really just come in his underwear right then and there.

This morning seems adamant on testing his patience as well. The sun is just rising and allowing him an unobstructed view of the beauty that is Montagne, stretched out on the bed before him and blissfully sleeping despite the fact Bandit must’ve stolen the blanket some time during the night. This little detail is what allows him to marvel at perfection itself, take in the long limbs, dusting of hairs on his chest, strong muscles. If he looks closer, he can see his regular heartbeat. It hurts looking at him because Bandit now fully knows what he can’t have yet, what Montagne hasn’t graced him with. He’s received a few hand jobs so far and it pains him to call it that, it felt more like a revelation, Montagne attentive and thorough, learning quickly and reducing Bandit to a shuddering heap of _want_ in minutes.

His prize is hidden in black briefs and it attracts his gaze like a magnet. He woke up with a boner and decided against taking care of it for exactly as long as he hadn’t yet turned around to examine the person with whom he’s sharing a bed. Now, he’s sitting upright, his own underwear pushed down and one hand lazily wandering up and down his hard shaft as he struggles with himself. He shouldn’t. He _knows_ he shouldn’t and Montagne would be disappointed if he did and Bandit would probably _also_ disappointed in himself but – it’s _right there_ and it looks fucking big flaccid already and dear Lord he vividly remembers all the times he felt it against his body, not allowed to touch it.

It calls to him. With a muffled gasp, he picks up speed and prays that Montagne is as slow to wake today as he is usually. He has mornings on which he rises early and easily though they’re exceedingly rare, normally he inhales deeply, stretches his limbs and buries his head further in his pillow before he even opens his eyes. It should be enough of a warning to not get caught. Unless his hand is down Montagne’s underwear. He supposes there’s no way he can talk his way out of that one.

Maybe there’s a compromise in there somewhere. Hesitantly, he reaches out and touches his palm to it, moulds his hand around it to get a better feel and _fuck_ , the flesh is hot and really as big as it looked and his breath hitches. This is bad. This is really bad. He needs to stop.

The head is thick already and merely imagining taking it robs him of the ability to form coherent thoughts. A quick glance, a complete stop in movement – no, Montagne is still sleeping, suspecting nothing, not reacting to the fact he’s being fondled. Bandit grows bolder, knowing full well he should be doing the opposite instead, and hooks his fingers into the waistband.

He’s going too far. It doesn’t matter that their job sometimes requires them to undress in front of each other, has had him cut open other people’s clothing several times and he probably has seen Montagne naked at some point. Still, it’s all irrelevant because it was an entirely different setting, there was nothing erotic about it, it wasn’t about being intimate with each other. It wasn’t breaking someone’s trust. His grip around his own dick tightens involuntarily. Then again, Montagne has seen _him_ butt naked.

Carefully, he pulls the fabric down and forces himself to complete the task of hooking it under Montagne’s balls before he allows himself to take a good look. And Jesus fucking Christ. He clenches his teeth and has to convince his fist to slow down or else he’s going to come on the spot. It’s… large, first of all, yes, but even if not Bandit would call it pretty. His insides twist in an oddly pleasant way as he fantasises about swallowing it whole while smiling up at Montagne, and he can’t help but run his fingers through the dark curls. He has no preference when it comes to that, though he’s noticed shaving usually makes the cock look bigger – in Montagne’s case he assumes it won’t make a difference.

It’s beckoning him. It’d be so easy to just grab and work it gently until it starts filling with blood and swelling (though Montagne is probably a shower because _holy hell_ ) and maybe Montagne won’t be able to resist once he wakes up, so it’s possible Bandit will finally get to sit on this beautiful piece of flesh and oh _God_ the thought alone makes him sweat. He bites his lip and cautiously begins peeling the foreskin back, exposing the head and rendering a few veins more visible, and when it twitches against his fingers, he comes without warning.

His climax takes him completely by surprise but the small jump was apparently too fucking hot for him and so he starts spurting semen accompanied by suppressed gasps, trying to be as quiet as possible while the contractions in his lower abs make him tremble and wash over him in waves of pleasure. It’s short-lived, however, because even in his immediate post-orgasmic haze, he notices one big fucking problem.

He came all over Montagne’s belly.

Panting softly, he eyes the mess with rising panic, unsure how to proceed. Another, now noticeably more scared as well as guilty glance reassures him that alright, at least he’s _still_ asleep and hopefully will never know Bandit jerked off to his basically unconscious body because he can imagine that might be a deal breaker. It might actually be one.

And yet, there’s an entirely different urge present as well, insane and thus fitting well to the rest of his actions so far. Montagne looks stunning like this, ripe for the taking, the white drops exceedingly pretty on his skin and – he just has to. He _has_ to.

He’s quick about it, immediately moves the photo to a folder inside a folder inside _another_ folder, hoping Mute won’t hack into his phone any time soon or if he does, at least not dig this deeply, and hastily puts the phone back onto the bedside table. That still doesn’t solve his problem, however. He imagines wiping him off might actually wake him, the necessary friction of tissue on skin too much even for a heavy sleeper like him. He cleans himself, tucks both of them back in and then does the only thing he can think of to get rid of the evidence.

At first he’s careful not to touch Montagne’s warm skin with his lips and tries to soundlessly suck the viscous liquid in, but some of it ran down Montagne’s side and he has no other choice than to resort to properly licking it away. It doesn’t help that it spattered all over him.

And then Montagne does a deep inhale and Bandit _panics_. As quickly as possible, he licks up the drops he hasn’t gotten to yet, masking his actions as wet kisses, now at least not needing to be quiet. He finishes with a swirl through Montagne’s navel right as he stretches and gives his abdomen a cursory wipe to ensure he hasn’t missed anything, pretending he’s merely stroking over his skin in affection.

“Good morning”, Montagne slurs, still sleep-drunk, and rubs his eyes, as of now totally and completely oblivious of the disaster which unfolded mere seconds ago. “That’s a nice way to be woken up, you know.”

Bandit wants to _scream_. “Yeah”, he replies as casually as he can, “I couldn’t sleep anymore and you were _there_.” To support his alibi of simply wanting to rouse Montagne with his quick kisses and licks, he peppers his chest with a few more when a hand attempts to gently pull him towards Montagne and fucking _hell_ if they make out now, there’s no way he won’t be able to taste the come on Bandit’s tongue. “Wait, I, uh, need to pee. I’ll be right back.” He ducks out of the soft grasp and jumps off the bed.

“Everything alright?”, Montagne wants to know and _great_ , now he’s worried, probably thinks Bandit dreamt badly when all he did was to -

“Peachy”, he responds without looking back and, once he’s standing in front of the bathroom mirror, hides his burning cheeks in his hands for a solid ten seconds before he can even _consider_ looking himself in the eye. Cool water on his hot face helps fight down the mortification and he even remembers to wash his mouth. “This stays between us, understood?”, he addresses his mirror image quietly before daring to step back out of the bathroom.

Sinking into Montagne’s arms helps as it always does, yet it’s also an odd comfort to know that he not only got away with it but also has visual proof for the future. He’s probably going to make use of that photo during lonely nights.


	7. Bandit is jealous

Montagne is talking to Fuze.

It’s a bit like looking into a mirror and Bandit decidedly _doesn’t_ like what he’s seeing: the Uzbek’s resting bitch face not moving an inch as the tall Frenchman cheerily chews his ear off, both of them eating lunch away from everyone else at the end of one of the tables in the canteen, away from both the GIGN _and_ the Spetsnaz, oddly enough. Normally, all the Russians stick together like mutated glue in that it can drink, hurl insults and laugh deafeningly, so seeing only one of them is decidedly strange. A little like spotting a lone porkling in the wild, even with the authenticity of a threat attached to it: the looming danger of its mother bursting out of the nearest shrub to smash faces. Still, Tachanka’s booming voice is directed at only two of his boys today.

He sits down and watches the odd couple suspiciously while pretending to be interested in whatever lame story Blitz is trying to tell him right now, nodding and huffing at the correct moments yet his gaze unwaveringly fixed on a vaguely uncomfortable-looking Fuze opposite of a smiling Montagne. It’s probably how Bandit looked in the beginning whenever the Frenchman (his lover, he corrects himself, still stunned at this reality, and barely manages to suppress a cringe when his brain helpfully supplies: his _boyfriend_ ) initiated a conversation with him: pained, disbelieving, sometimes even annoyed. He knows now it mostly stemmed from embarrassment upon Montagne knowing about some of his weaknesses while all Bandit had heard about his tall colleague was praise upon praise, so there was a certain power imbalance with which he was far from alright. It didn’t matter that Montagne didn’t know any details, him simply choosing to keep him company because he sensed Bandit needed it was enough.

So now he’s squinting at Fuze. Because he looks _exactly_ like Bandit used to and hey, where did he end up? In Montagne’s bed. Faint nausea rolls over him and destroys what little appetite he initially had and with it gone, nothing keeps him at the table anymore. Ignoring Blitz’ questions as he wordlessly gets up to leave, he squeezes in past Montagne, drags his chair unnecessarily close and presses his side against his lover’s while fixing Fuze with a cool gaze which is returned just as coldly. “Hey”, he says and does his best not to sound bitchy right away because he’s _not_ , definitely isn’t, merely curious, “what are you two talking about?”

Montagne remains blissfully oblivious to the glare the other two are exchanging and answers readily with a self-deprecating chuckle: “I was just telling him of my days as a piano player and before you ask, no, I never really got any good at it.”

Oh. Bandit didn’t even know he used to play the piano. But now _Fuze_ knows and he even knew before him and his eyes narrow further. “Interesting”, he says neutrally, “I wanna get a soda, want to come with me?”

Under different circumstances, Montagne would jump up immediately at the mere _mention_ of soda – it’s his guilty pleasure (well, one of them, since Bandit supposes he counts as one) and he’s enthusiastic about doing anything as long as it can be done in Bandit’s presence… only right now, he hesitates. Throws a questioning glance to Fuze who looks like he literally couldn’t care any less about them leaving. “I’m not done eating though, can’t you -”

“No. Let’s go.” And as Bandit rises, basically dragging Montagne with him, he thinks he sees Fuze’s lips twitch.

 

“Why are you talking to Fuze?”, Bandit demands to know once they’ve arrived at the vending machine stocked with a wide variety of unhealthy, fizzy drinks which make Bandit’s stomach hurt and his belches smell terrible.

“Didn’t you hear? He had a fight with Alexsandr yesterday and it was so bad they’re not on speaking terms right now. And since the other two basically worship the ground Alex walks on -”

“That still doesn’t answer my question”, he insists, much to Montagne’s surprise. Bandit rarely pries and hardly ever shows any interest in other people’s personal affairs.

“I didn’t want to leave him sitting all alone. Alex is not going to get mad at me for it and everyone deserves some company, don’t you think?”

This is when it hits him. Montagne is a fucking bleeding heart. He sees stray dogs and adopts them, just like he adopts stray operators apparently – this explains why there was a phase in which Montagne hung around with Mute, right in the beginning when the young Englishman made next to no attempts to befriend anyone.

Another revelation dawns on him. Does this mean -

“Am I a fucking charity case?”, he wants to know disgustedly. “Is that what this is?”

Montagne seems thoroughly confused now which is understandable as Bandit might potentially be jumping to conclusions faster than Montagne can watch. “Dom, please, what are you talking about?” Trying to put it into words would make him seem not only insane but also bitter, so he decides not to elaborate despite the nagging feeling gnawing at him. He mutely turns to the machine, punches a number in without looking and shoves a few coins into the slot, only to be graced with a can dropping filled with stuff he can’t stand. Worst of all, Montagne _knows_ this. For a few seconds, Bandit tries to make the soda spontaneously combust with the force of a dark look alone while Montagne probably regards him with this stupid fucking expression he often gets when he thinks Bandit is being unreasonable and he is _not_ , thank you very much, far from it because what if it’s all over once Montagne deems him integrated enough, just like he did with Mute once he befriended the disaster that is the rest of his team, and Bandit’s hands are getting cold now from holding the can and all he wants to do is punch Fuze’s ugly face in.

“Talk to me”, Montagne asks softly in that tone of voice which conveys he’s not going to judge and Bandit _hates_ it because he never does. He doesn’t judge. He never discards Bandit’s mood swings as unreasonable or immature.

“Why do you like me?”

The words leave his mouth faster than he can scold himself for even thinking them yet they hit their mark, smooth Montagne’s expression because now he knows what he’s dealing with and can react accordingly. Regardless, his answer is not very reassuring: “I don’t know.”

“Wow”, Bandit replies sarcastically. Way to fill him with confidence.

“I wasn’t finished.” Smiling, Montagne mercilessly exploits his weakspot by reaching up to lightly scratch his beard, card his fingers through the coarse hairs and reduces Bandit to an almost-drooling mess in seconds. “I don’t have a simple answer for you, I’m afraid, but I just know that I do. Every room feels different to me when you’re in it. Watching you fall asleep next to me, on me, in my arms, has become the highlight of my day. And I’m happy about every second I get to spend with you. I can’t put into words _why_ , though.”

Bandit blinks at him, pleasant sensations washing over him and making both his anger and his worry disappear effortlessly. He tries finding an answer for himself, why exactly he adores this man in front of him so much, yet only comes up with an earth-shattering feeling of deep-seated affection with which he’s afflicted in moments like these. _Because you’re_ ** _you_** , he thinks and leans into the gentle strokes over his cheek. “This is unfair”, he mumbles, making Montagne snicker and pull him into a quick hug he allows only because they’re half-hidden behind the vending machine. “You can have my fucking soda if you want it.”

“Gladly”, Montagne replies, amused, takes it and holds Bandit’s hand until it’s warmed up.

 

Montagne is talking to Fuze. _Again_.

They’ve just finished their physical training for the day, jumped, climbed and crawled their way through an obstacle course, ran until their muscles were on fire and even had to swim. Bandit doesn’t mind the exertion as it more often than not allows him to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep later yet he can’t deny he’s starting to feel his age – especially when he watches Rook ace the course with ease. He used to be very agile and extremely good at running but lost his touch a little (and if _that_ isn’t ironic because running is most of what he seems to do these days), often lying to himself about picking up jogging again despite never following through. Right now, he’s comfortably exhausted and looking forward to maybe trading massages with Montagne, possibly dozing off to his broad hands kneading his shoulders and the thought alone makes a fluttery feeling rise in him.

Then he spots them, off to the side, Fuze actually having taken off his shirt and wiping his sweat off with a towel while Montagne talks at him with an oblivious friendliness – seemingly unaware of the way the Uzbek displays the muscles on his strong frame. But Bandit notices. Oh does he _notice_. He storms over with a scowl and just barely resists colliding with Montagne, keeping the momentum going and simply dragging him off.

“- more flexible, I’d suggest stretching regularly as it does indeed help”, the Frenchman finishes his sentence just as Bandit arrives and _what_. What kind of topic -

“Are you talking about how Fuze can’t even scratch his own back without dislocating half of his limbs?”, he butts in, shooting Fuze a dark look and earning a vaguely pained one from Montagne in return.

“Not everyone can be a lanky piece of shit like you”, Fuze replies politely.

“Being thin doesn’t have anything to do with being flexible”, Montagne interjects but stops talking as soon as Bandit starts bending his body to prove a point, reaching over his shoulder with one arm and around his back with the other, effortlessly hooking his fingers together. He does not miss Montagne’s intrigued expression and preens under his gaze, shows off a few more things and ignores Fuze’s growing amusement.

“Seems like those yoga lessons really paid off. Though you don’t seem all that enlightened to me.”

“You shut your whore mouth”, Bandit hisses and doesn’t manage to get the reactions he’s hoped for as Fuze is starting to grin now and Montagne looks almost shocked.

“Dom, if you’re tired, maybe you should call it a day”, he suggests hesitantly and it’s very clear he’s trying to keep the conversation civil.

A thought occurs to him and instead of protesting vehemently, he nods. “You’re right, I’m absolutely knackered, I can barely stand. Oh _God_ am I tired. How am I even still awake?” He leans against his lover with enough force to make him take a step back, then swoons dramatically to which Montagne, as expected, puts his arms around him. “I don’t think I can actually make it back to my room. How about you carry me instead? Would you do me the favour? Otherwise I’ll probably faint on the way.”

Concern bleeds into Montagne’s confusion and he agrees, probably wondering why Bandit won’t allow him to hold his hand in public but carrying him is somehow okay, and so Bandit climbs on him, hugs him tightly and wraps his legs around his waist possessively. After a friendly goodbye, Montagne makes his way towards their quarters and Bandit can’t help but glare at Fuze over his boyfriend’s shoulder and give him the finger.

Fuze just snorts and rolls his eyes as if Bandit was a rebelling teenager.

 

“Why are you still talking to Fuze?”, he wants to know later in bed and no, he’s _not_ pouting, he’s above that.

Montagne rolls onto his side, props himself up on one elbow and smiles down at him like the benevolent being he is, even reaches out with his other hand and lets it wander over Bandit’s chest, his warm palm travelling over his ribs, his abdomen and his sides, unknowingly making something further down twitch hopefully. Despite Bandit trying to push his hand lower through mere thought, it never dips into his underwear. “I enjoy his company. He’s gruff on the outside and may favour questionable methods, but he’s a good man.”

“He’s a fucking asshole”, Bandit objects and realises too late. Once again, he’s being mirrored and he doesn’t like it in the _least_. “Look, I have nothing against you talking to him -”

“It appears that you do.” Montagne is still smiling, still stroking over his skin. “You don’t need to be friends with him, I don’t expect you to.”

Is that what Montagne thinks is going on? He frowns and scoots a bit closer, stretches towards the tall man with the soft eyes and lets his own fall shut when they lock lips. It helps but ultimately does little to soothe the worry eating at him, even when Montagne leans over him, a comforting weight against his body and their kiss slow and intimate. He resolves to kill Fuze should he ever ask to borrow Montagne’s jacket.

He purrs into his lover’s mouth when he’s pulled closer, his dick (which has been hard ever since they went to bed, always is, always hopes for Montagne’s touch, for _more_ ) jumping enthusiastically at the gesture but when he pushes his hands under Montagne’s shirt, he’s stopped with a touch to his wrists. “I don’t want to tire you out”, Montagne murmurs and kisses his cheek, “if you can’t even walk back to your room, you should sleep as soon as possible.”

 _Now_ Bandit is pouting, the scowl on his face fierce even when they’ve found a comfortable position to sleep in because in his head, he’s cursing Fuze colourfully. Even when he knows he basically played himself.

 

~*~

 

Fuze has begun talking to Montagne.

It’s a development Bandit watches out of the corner of his eye with growing frustration as well as disgust. For a variety of reasons, he’s not ready to disclose any intimate details about Montagne and himself yet, not when everything still feels precarious, like a house of cards which needs no more than a light breeze to be destroyed. It’s been a long while since Bandit tried his hand at anything resembling a serious relationship, indicated by the fact that he wants to self destruct simply due to _thinking_ of Montagne as his partner – everything developed so organically it’s hard to even pinpoint the moment when it evolved into more than a circumstantial friendship.

So no, letting Fuze know unambiguously that he shouldn’t even try, that his efforts will be in vain, that Montagne is taken and owned and protected from judgemental, callous idiots by no other than Bandit himself is out of the question. Even so, Fuze can brag about his latest ideas in the workshop as much as he wants, can keep inviting Montagne out for drinks, can seek his company and allow him to disclose personal facts even Bandit didn’t know (and what is up with that – it’s not like Bandit wouldn’t be interested in hearing about fucking music theory, no matter whether he’d understand a single word or not, he likes listening to Montagne and even if he falls asleep during it, Montagne would probably end up happy with the result). Yes, Fuze can do whatever he wants but it’ll be ultimately futile.

Or so Bandit hopes.

The worst thing is that Fuze seems to be completely aware of what he’s doing. For a few days, Bandit doubted his own senses but then he realised that the Uzbek catches him literally every time Bandit spies on him when he interacts with Montagne, so he must be on the lookout for him. Right? Whenever Bandit rushes over to either try and dominate the conversation or abduct Montagne to rescue him from death by boredom, there’s a minuscule smirk on Fuze’s face which only grows over time. Not only that, eventually Bandit has to come up with more and more creative solutions to stop the two from conversing because Montagne is beginning to react to his presence with a vague weariness which makes Bandit’s insides ache. He’s on the best way to making Montagne sick of him, he knows this, is genuinely starting to annoy him and yet he cannot stop. Not when the alternative is losing him to Fuze.

And so he deliberately runs into a door. It fucking _hurts_ and the bruise is impressively colourful but at least he has Montagne’s attention all to himself for a bit, brows furrowed in worry, voice gentle, hands warm and pacifying. Once, he starts a fight with Blitz which isn’t all that difficult to do – both of them are pretty much always ready to beat each other up, partly because they’re mostly shitheads to each other, knowing how to push each other’s buttons, and partly because they know it helps them both as they usually end up feeling better and neither of them holds a grudge afterwards. It’s a foolproof system to let off steam and in this case, Bandit abuses it to get Montagne to intervene. What he didn’t factor in would be the slightly disappointed look on the Frenchman’s face, the underlying worry, the quiet questions once they’re alone. Is he okay? Is there something he’d like to talk about?

No. The fucking answer is no. To both.

He soaks up every little bit of affection like a sponge but it’s never enough, no amount of kisses or cuddling is enough to satisfy him. They still haven’t moved past jerking each other off despite Bandit’s insistent pushing for more – he knows how seriously Montagne treats sex, knows what it means to him and hopes that by coercing him into taking the next step, he can somehow… bind his lover to himself. So he can later say: but we slept together. It _has_ to mean something. _I_ have to mean something to you.

It’s pathetic and he’s well aware and still, whenever Montagne touches him, he melts. One time, they’re on their side, his back pressed against Montagne’s chest, ass grinding against his erection while they kiss a little awkwardly over Bandit’s shoulder. His moans are unselfconscious, his movements instinctual and unrestrained, and he pictures Montagne pushing into him instead of against him and comes entirely too fast, his lust far from sated even after spilling all over Montagne’s fist. He moves to undress the tall man and wants nothing more than to have his hard shaft somewhere inside him, doesn’t matter whether it’s his mouth or further down and all that Montagne probably sees is someone unthinking, someone horny who just wants to feel good while, to Bandit himself, his actions are screaming a variety of things he’d never say out loud. _I don’t want to lose you. I want you to look at me. I want you to know how much I -_

As always, Montagne says no. And so Bandit has no other choice but to try and convey his thoughts otherwise, lap at Montagne’s nipples like a cat, leave wet kisses all over his chest and neck, relish each and every noise and tremble until he’s told to stop the teasing. And it’s not enough. It never is.

 

It’s pub night. Normally, this means Bandit accompanies one group, then floats back and forth between others depending on where the action is, whether there are bets or challenges being made, whether anyone’s getting too drunk and disclosing entirely too many personal details and more often than not, he ends up among total strangers who are suddenly his best friends. While he doesn’t mind the presence of most of his co-workers, the large majority are nothing more than that: colleagues with whom he shares a bond closer than other people at their jobs and yet it doesn’t mean he has to share most of his free time with them too. If he did, they might notice him lingering a little too long now and then or watching displays of camaraderie with an unreadable expression.

Tonight, he hopes to get drunk enough to drag Montagne into a corner, a restroom or a dark alley, extricate him from his warm circle of friends to possibly explain himself or do something stupid but nice so that his lover, in his infinite wisdom, understands his problem without him having to spell it out and fixes it somehow. He’s unknowingly great at fixing things, especially where they concern Bandit, has so far managed to wish most of his dreams away, largely solved the issue of Bandit basically not sleeping and is generally on the right track to just… fix Bandit as a whole.

So he’s looking forward to it yet tries not to get his hopes up simultaneously which results in an odd mixture of excitement and indifference when he asks Montagne when they’re going to leave. (He’s only seen Montagne tipsy once and it was all reddened cheeks and loose limbs; he smiled more and talked less though he seemed at peace with himself and Bandit wanted to curl up against him and ignore the pulsing need for activity and distraction for a minute.)

The hesitation he gets in return doesn’t bode well and his immediate suspicions are confirmed when he receives the apologetic answer: “I won’t be joining you today, Dom. There’s a film I was planning on watching again and since Fuze isn’t going out either, we wanted -”

“Why didn’t you ask me?”, he interrupts Montagne harsher than intended.

“It’s a French film.” And oh, alright, that’s a fair point actually, Bandit remembers the last two they watched which both were decidedly too artsy for him, resulting in nothing but incomprehension and derision on his part. He later made the mistake of mentioning his dismay to Rook who sided with Montagne straightaway because apparently Rook’s parents watch the same kind of stupid films and only a day later, Doc called him a philistine to his face. He’s been properly put off French cinema ever since but there’s something more important going on right now because _hold on_ , did Montagne just say he was going to watch a film together with that ass-kissing Uzbek who’s been stalking him?

“I love French films”, Bandit lies through his teeth with no hesitation and realises his mistake a little too late as Montagne was the first person in his life whom he informed on the very opposite of his previous statement. A sceptical brow lifts. “I mean – I’ll give them another chance. I’ll watch it with you, right now, let’s go.”

As far as spontaneous plans go, it’s not the worst – he’ll have to survive probably two hours of self-enlightened bullshit but he’ll do it by Montagne’s side which pretty much makes up for everything. Since almost no one will be around, Bandit might even go so far as to put his head on the Frenchman’s shoulder or take his hand and trace the lines in his palm and fucking _Christ_ , if that’s something he’s looking forward to, he’s definitely too far gone. Besides, isn’t a film the perfect time to make a move? What if Fuze really was -

“Alright, you go on ahead, I’ll find him.”

Bandit doesn’t understand right away. “Find whom?” And then it clicks and oh Lord, does this mean he’ll not only have to watch a French film without being allowed to touch Montagne in any way but also _in Fuze’s presence_ because _no_. That wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t his intention at all, in fact it’s almost the exact opposite and how come Montagne is this averse to being rude to people and letting them know they’re butting in and kinda third-wheeling and maybe he’ll have to break Fuze’s nose after all.

 

In Bandit’s mind, there was a blissful universe where Montagne and he resolved to allow an extremely questionable film to wash over them as they progressively become more affectionate with each other until Bandit maybe ends up leaning against his chest and falls asleep to the dreamy atmosphere and minimalistic soundtrack of some narcissistic director’s creative ejaculate. This reality existed for about twenty seconds (until he heard Fuze was going to join them) and has since been shattered, trampled and pissed on as well as completely reversed.

Because the film is actually decent. Even better, Bandit finds the comedy extremely entertaining – despite or possibly _because_ of the fact that he’s German. It’s set in one apartment only with an extremely small cast and starts out as a lovely dinner party among old friends and family but the whole thing devolves into one hilariously absurd argument after the other when one of the men (whose wife is expecting) reveals his plans to call their son Adolphe. The witty banter especially resonates with Bandit who always appreciates when people are able to insult others without them noticing immediately and so instead of falling asleep, he’s suppressing the odd snicker.

Suppressing because the other half of his momentary fantasy is crushed as well.

Fuze might as well be a mountain range separating the two lovers both with how unmoving he is and also how _fucking in the way_. He sat down next to Montagne on the couch without asking and – when Bandit glared at him, took the remaining seat on his other side and unsubtly nudged and jabbed him in the side – did nothing but grin slightly. It was crystal clear he wasn’t going to move and Montagne, ever polite, wasn’t either, and so they end up occupying one of the three sofas, all of them sitting uncomfortably upright and Bandit wishing for Fuze to spontaneously develop a few kidney stones.

Worst of all, he doesn’t seem to be enjoying himself. This is the part which infuriates Bandit to no end – for someone who goes out of his way to unsuccessfully (if Bandit has any say in it, and he makes sure he does) strike up conversations with Montagne, the Uzbek doesn’t give off the impression of actually _liking_ it. Bandit isn’t petty or self-centred enough to assume Fuze is fucking with him but it sure looks like it sometimes. Right now is the perfect example: Montagne and Bandit usually chuckle over the same lines whereas Fuze looks like someone who’d be shot if he moved a single muscle in his face.

Just when Bandit decides to fake a fever maybe or to put one of his arms over the backrest in the hopes Montagne gets the hint and does the same so they can at least hold hands behind Fuze’s back or something (and even his inner voice laughs at him for this), Montagne pauses the film and declares he’s thirsty, would like to go get something to drink and it’s the perfect opportunity to get him to elope with Bandit by bribing him with… well, nothing. He’s incorruptible, Bandit can’t lure him in with the promise of sex or food or alcohol, can’t suggest anything he wouldn’t normally do for Montagne because either Bandit does everything for Montagne already or Montagne knows he wouldn’t enjoy it and therefore refuses to accept. Which explains why Bandit had to resort to admittedly pitiful methods to gain his attention.

“You know what, I don’t actually like the film that much”, Fuze replies calmly, “I’m gonna go join the others. See you later.” And Bandit could _kiss_ him. At least up to the point where Fuze throws him a meaningful and mocking glance and adds: “Have fun, you two.”

Does he – he _can’t_ know. There is no way the Uzbek would assume they… after all, Montagne is an upstanding citizen and Bandit is, well, _Bandit_ , but for good measure he glares after Fuze all the way to the door and only relaxes once it clicks shut behind him.

“Ah, what a shame”, Montagne sighs, oblivious as usual, and he sounds so disappointed and embarrassed for enjoying something which others quite clearly don’t that Bandit starts climbing on him before he’s even finished his sentence, “I really like this film, I thought -”

He’s silenced by an insistent mouth and an even more insistent tongue for which he wasn’t prepared yet receives willingly, even allows Bandit to push him into a horizontal position and straddle him while their tongues are dancing with each other, all of Bandit’s pent up frustration breaking free. Montagne tries to slow him down, pets his hair, holds him tight but it only works in small increments. Bandit _needs_ this, feels every reassuring stroke over his back soothe the fear inside him and so he prolongs the kiss as much as possible.

“Why were you gonna watch this with him alone?”, he hears himself murmur against Montagne’s throat and curses himself all through the following short silence.

“Dom.” A hand gently lifts his chin so he has no choice but to gaze into blue eyes filled with a mixture of mirth, adoration and astonishment. “Are you jealous?”

How _dare he_. Outrage creeps into Bandit’s expression, just like a suspicious warmth indicating blood flowing to his cheeks but he ignores it in favour of pure indignation. “What? Me?! Are you nuts? There’s no fucking -”

“Oh no.” Montagne is disregarding his vehement protest completely, his face softening. “I’m so sorry I didn’t notice sooner. Oh, Dom. For what it’s worth, I don’t think he even likes me as a person.”

“I wasn’t -” A suffocating embrace cuts him off and allows him to hide his burning face once more. “Look, I -”

“This explains a _lot_ , actually”, Montagne continues with a low chuckle, “I was wondering why you were behaving so weirdly.” Bandit keeps trying to stammer a reply yet fails to come up with any sort of excuse – probably because he can’t really provide one. “Dom, it’s alright. You should’ve told me earlier, we could’ve talked about it.”

“No”, he grumbles weakly, “definitely not.”

“There is no one but you. There is not going to _be_ anyone but you. Especially not when you’re this adorable.”

Great. Bandit feels like a complete and utter idiot by now and Montagne isn’t helping. “Don’t call me that”, he objects, pouting and fighting down the overwhelming relief threatening to show on his face because he’s _not_ going to let Montagne know how worried he really was, not now when it all seems laughable in retrospect. Of course Montagne likes him, of course he likes him the most, he’s told Bandit other, much more intimate things which he hasn’t shared with anyone else on the base, he _knows_ this, they spend almost every night snuggled up against each other. There never was anything to worry about.

And then the door to the lounge opens again, making Bandit freeze. He contemplates throwing himself off the sofa so they won’t be found in such a compromising position but somehow doubts it’d look any less suspicious. Since the back of the couch is facing the door, he’s got good chances that as long as he can get the person not to walk into the room fully, they won’t see anything, therefore he simply sits up abruptly and realises too late that he’s still blushing like mad.

Regardless, he almost rolls his eyes when he sees who it is. “Forgot my phone”, Fuze says laconically and refuses to move from where he’s standing.

“Then come and get it”, Bandit responds, braver than he feels. Montagne’s reassurances have imbued him with courage and a certain recklessness – who cares if Fuze sees, maybe he’ll stop antagonising Bandit once he witnesses how stupidly happy they are with each other.

Fuze’s lips stretch into a lazy grin and he simply shakes his head. “I’d rather not see either of your dicks, if I’m honest. Just toss it over.”

 _Oh_. Bandit blinks. _Oh, he knows_. The past days (even weeks) flash before Bandit’s eyes, the way he puffed himself up in front of Montagne whenever Fuze was around, his slapstick performances, all the flimsy excuses and ridiculous attention-seeking behaviour. Even if Fuze hadn’t known at first, he must’ve noticed a pattern and Bandit was probably far from subtle about it and okay, yeah, maybe he might as well have written it on his own forehead because _Jesus_. He even sympathises with Fuze getting a kick out of riling him up – he would’ve done the same in his situation, if he’s honest. But despite knowing, he can’t have told anyone, Bandit would’ve noticed the odd glances, there’s no doubt about it. So for some reason, Fuze respected their decision and kept quiet.

Maybe he’s not so bad after all.

Bandit plucks the device in question from the coffee table and carefully throws it so Fuze can easily catch it out of the air. “Get a room”, Fuze says and Bandit shoots back: “Get a _life_.”

Both of them nod slightly in an odd, non-verbal agreement and Bandit is sure that Fuze won’t bother either of them in the future, just like Fuze now knows Bandit will have his back should he need it.

“Seriously though, don’t fuck on the couch”, the Uzbek adds gruffly before turning and leaving, this time for good.

With a sigh and the last of Bandit’s tension seeping out of him, he turns back to Montagne who’s watching him attentively. “So”, he starts cautiously, “Fuze knows about us now, hm?”

Bandit nods mutely and lies back down, hums when broad hands welcome his body readily and he realises once again with shocking clarity just how much he’s come to depend on Montagne – a thought which would normally send him running. He thought he preferred being on his own but it seems he’s tired of it all, tired of watching his own back, tired of fighting with no one by his side. In Montagne’s presence, he can rest. The sentiment is comparatively new and will take some time getting used to, but all he knows is that he cannot put into words how glad he is to experience what it’s like to be cared for by someone this reliable, understanding and patient. He’s not ready for the whole world to know this, afraid it’ll leave him (or worse, Montagne) vulnerable, but he might get there eventually.

“Are you okay with this?”

Worry is still colouring his lover’s voice who probably remembers all the instances with Bandit scrambling to hide their affection and Bandit is content to make it evaporate into nothing by simply nodding and saying: “Yeah. I am.”

Despite it being vaguely uncomfortable, they keep still for a few minutes, bask in the cosy silence between them. However, Bandit is sure Montagne is soon going to bring up all the things he did to draw and, most importantly, _keep_ his attention, so to pre-emptively stop him, he suggests: “We can watch the rest of the film now. I actually don’t mind it.”

And Montagne just smiles widely in return.


	8. A first major disagreement

Montagne supposes it would hurt Bandit’s reputation.

Then again, _hurt_ implies _affect negatively_ and while the German indubitably would see it that way, Montagne is pretty sure it’d be an improvement – almost anything would be, at this point. Bandit is known for quite a few things ranging from rumours about his time undercover to his penchant for eating live insects for the right kind of money. He’s part black sheep, part jokester, part ‘badass’, and from what Montagne has seen during their time in Rainbow, Bandit would like to preserve this impression – though to what end is a mystery to him, especially since he does seem to open up to others eventually, if Montagne himself is anything to go by. Though he probably isn’t. Among all the people with whom Bandit regularly spends his time, he sticks out like a sore thumb.

Which is exactly the reason why they’re not telling anyone, he supposes. Frankly, he can’t imagine his own friends and teammates to be thrilled to hear the news, quite the opposite, because especially with most of the younger operators, any mention of Bandit alone causes alarm as if he could be summoned by saying his name three times in front of a mirror. It’s possible people would publicly disapprove or just throw them judging side glances and while Montagne isn’t keen on potentially having to defend his – as he feels – entirely reasonable choice, he’d gladly do it, happily suffer the whispering behind his back, be content even as he garners disbelief and dismay. Because it’d mean he could finally take Bandit’s hand and hold it, shield it from the cold outside and, more importantly, the cold _inside_ , interlace their fingers and display his support of this humble and courageous man who fights every day, even if it’s against invisible enemies.

But he can’t. He’s not allowed to. Because Bandit’s or his own reputation might suffer or because Bandit is embarrassed or because of some other reason he’s not disclosing. And it’s alright. Montagne will give him a few days to mull it over, then raise the topic once again. They’re past hiding, he feels, the fragile thing between them strengthened to the point where it’s going to withstand anything hurled against it by the people around them. Especially because Montagne is firmly convinced they won’t attack it at all.

 

It’s not alright, as it turns out. In fact, it’s a rift threatening to break asunder even further and as long as neither of them joins the other at the last second, they’ll end up on different sides. And Montagne is usually ready to compromise, far from obstinate and always trying to mediate in conflicts, but Bandit is stubborn and pigheaded and an idiot and categorically refuses to take a single step in Montagne’s direction. He seems scared somehow, as if revealing this part of his life would leave him vulnerable and Montagne can actually partly understand it. In the circles Bandit normally moves in, it’s a dog-eat-dog atmosphere, every private detail is a tasty morsel to be picked apart and cause for hurtful mockery – yet their colleagues in Rainbow are better than that. Sadly, Bandit doesn’t seem to agree.

He gets pissed whenever Montagne mentions it or anything related, has stormed out before which is the worst thing he can do because then Montagne won’t know how or where to find him nor in what state. So he’s dropped it for the moment in favour of soothing Bandit’s fears as best as he can while pushing his own dissatisfaction aside. It’s not as important as Bandit’s well-being yet it eats at him every time they’re in the presence of others. Bandit has started to refuse his jacket, refuse any of his help. It stings and sows seeds of doubt which, once fully grown, will be reaped to form a conclusion too worrying to pay it any attention for now. Montagne wants to stay by his side. He really wants to. But he might start wondering whether Bandit wants him to as well.

 

And then he goes down.

All of their missions are high risk, so it’s no wonder people get injured though it hasn’t happened to Montagne in a while, not this seriously, not to the point where he looks down at his own body and thinks _all this blood belongs on the inside, not here_. The pain is unbearable but the icy feeling is worse, indicates serious blood loss together with the dizziness and his numbed mind. Around him, the others are shouting, coordinating, adapting to this new, unexpected situation but they’re used to changing plans on the fly so he’s not worried about them. No more than usual anyway.

Except for one person. Amidst all the hullabaloo, Bandit is an island of calm, blinks down at him with an unreadable expression while reloading his gun without looking. He doesn’t get swept up in the frenzy surrounding Montagne, his gaze doesn’t waver when Ash calls for Doc in a panic, calls an ambulance maybe, calls _someone_ with the clipped voice she only uses when something went wrong; he doesn’t look up when Thatcher barks out a few orders meant to reorganise their assault and herds the others together. No, Bandit stays where he is, gun dangling loosely between his fingers, pointed downwards, and blinks at Montagne.

He says nothing. All he does is turn around and leave the room, ignores the voices yelling after him, probably outruns Ash hurrying to catch him before he does something dumb, on his way to probably _do_ something dumb. Montagne doesn’t have the energy to speak, is pressing down on one of the gunshot wounds to at least slow down the bleeding, and that’s when the gunfire starts. The noises are manifold, there’s a small explosion shaking the ground on which Montagne is lying, people are screaming and he’s not sure who it is, and he momentarily loses consciousness.

When he drifts back into reality, he’s on a stretcher and being carried out of the dilapidated building. His head lolls to the side and he catches sight of a few silhouettes, their actions incomprehensible to him until he makes out two slim figures in the middle of a once grey, now red-walled room, one of them viciously stomping down on a lifeless lump on the floor while the other tries to put an end to the display.

“He’s dead, stop!”, one of them yells, it’s Ash and she sounds genuinely disturbed. “For fuck’s sake, _stop_ , he’s dead, he’s already -”

Just as the second figure turns its head in Montagne’s direction, they’ve passed the doorway and he’s greeted with blinding sunlight. He himself isn’t dead yet, that much he knows, the people around him seem to have come to the same conclusion as they’re reassuring him of this fact and just as the doors to the ambulance are about to be pulled shut, an apparition jumps in.

The original colour of his clothes is indiscernible because right now, it’s nothing but crimson and dripping onto the pristine floor. He looks almost angelic, his face deathly pale and in stark contrast to the rest of him – but if he’s an angel, he’s one of revenge, selectively raining death upon his foes but sparing the few deemed worthy of his protection. Despite the fact Montagne’s hands are just as bloodied as his gloves, Bandit pulls off the layer that would’ve separated their direct skin contact, reveals clean, untainted skin and immediately grabs Montagne’s hand, ignoring the red smears it causes.

He’s warm. For once, his skin is a source of heat Montagne desperately needs, it spreads through him like a wildfire and manages to pull the corners of his mouth upwards. With the last of his strength, he grips the warm fingers, squeezes them and only just catches Bandit’s words before falling unconscious again.

“Don’t you fucking die on me.”

 

When Montagne wakes, he’s greeted by Bandit’s face first and the rest of his team (plus a few others) second. Literally everyone excluding the German is wearing an expression made up of a wild mixture containing disbelief, vague fear, overwhelming relief, confusion and concern; all of them glance at Bandit now and then or exchange worried looks. It’s a sight usually found whenever a drunk person acts up in public and everyone is too intimidated to step in and it almost makes Montagne laugh.

Because all Bandit is doing is _beaming_ at him.

“Hey, you’re awake”, he states the obvious in a ridiculously cheery tone of voice Montagne has heard only a few times prior to this and always in the confines of one of their rooms, “you probably feel like something ate you and then shat you out, eh? I brought you that dark chocolate you like so much and if you want, I can get you fresh coffee as well. You’re not supposed to have any but fuck the doctors.” While talking, he strokes Montagne’s hair and cheek as gently as he always does and even in his muddled, drug induced dizzy state, he understands. It’s an apology. The most effective apology because there’s no talking they’ll have to do anymore, Bandit’s affectionate gestures speak volumes and express more than simple words ever could. Montagne leans into his touch and they smile at each other, lost in their own world for a second until he remembers everyone else who are now staring at them as if Bandit had started stripping on Montagne’s hospital bed.

“I’ll take the coffee”, he rasps, his throat dry, and Bandit nods. His expression is fond and completely unbothered by the presence of their colleagues which is an indication of how much he must’ve agonised over Montagne’s state in the time that’s passed. Regardless, he seems to feel nothing but relief and contentment upon seeing him awake, and so he hums to himself as he leaves the room. His shoes have been cleaned but even now, there’s specks of red on them.

Before anyone else can say anything, Montagne turns to them with a small sigh. “Isn’t he endearing?”

And this leaves everyone speechless.


	9. They finally both say it

Montagne says it first.

He doesn’t mind not receiving the reply he hoped for because he trusts he will in time, and besides, it’s absolutely worth the look on Bandit’s face anyway. He’s been waiting for the perfect moment for a while, considered uttering the three little words in moments of peace: when Bandit rests his head on his uninjured shoulder while they’re watching TV still in the hospital, whenever they’re curled up together after he’s been discharged, after waking Bandit up by petting his hair, in the safety of darkness when trying to sleep, between gentle kisses or right after they’ve stroked each other to completion.

(Allowing Bandit to see him fully naked for the first time is a step he takes not without trepidation, as silly as it might sound – he’s explored his lover’s body extensively and familiarised himself with all the scars on it, the fine hairs and birthmarks, the soft skin, the black ink on it and the muscles working beneath it. Bandit is beautiful in his entirety, past fights just like certain mistakes immortalised as silvery slashes or dots, some memories voluntarily painted on as violent motifs wrapping around his upper arms, torso and thighs. Montagne never gets tired of _looking_ , and yet this rich canvas intimidates him because he knows he can’t compare. He’s not in bad shape but his age shows, he never quite overcame his embarrassment about the stretch marks on his shoulders from growing too fast and, unlike Bandit, he hasn’t marked his body with tattoos.

Even so, Bandit is speechless. He touches every part of Montagne which isn’t covered with bandages almost reverently, and eventually only says: “Are you kidding me? I thought you were a shower, not a _grower_. My God.” And just like that, most of Montagne’s worries dissipate.)

When he eventually says it, it’s while they’re at a nearby open air event – a mixture of live music and the slightly more exotic kind of street food, a few stands offering South American delicacies, one food stall specialising in samosas, yet another advertises vegan burgers in intriguing variations. It’s not too special, a bit pricey and the music’s nothing more than covers of family friendly pop songs but the atmosphere is comfortable and the low-hanging sun warms their backs. Bandit gets himself some empanadas while mocking Montagne’s vegan choice but it turns out they have to swap because the filling is too spicy for Bandit’s sensitive taste buds. He refuses to admit it but Montagne is pretty sure he likes the burger. They share a few samosas with different fillings as well while Montagne drinks cider (it reminds him of French cidre which he loved as an adolescent) and Bandit beer, though they share two cocktails later, both what Bandit would (and does) call _girly_ yet he drinks most of them.

They went early to have some time to themselves as a few of their friends are joining them later so they don’t keep drinking for now, simply sit at one of the tables, talking about food and people and memories and suddenly Montagne realises this is real. They’re spending time together in public, Bandit wasn’t ashamed to mention to his teammates that he wants to enjoy part of it with Montagne alone and despite blushing and averting his gaze, Bandit didn’t pull his hand away when Montagne took it earlier. They’re actually doing this and the realisation dazzles him for a moment, has Bandit frown and ask whether everything is alright and that’s when Montagne says it.

He doesn’t mind not receiving the usual reply to it, a reply he hoped for, because when their friends join them, Bandit almost acts drunk, greets them excitedly, informs them about the fact that all the food is delicious, recommends one of the cocktails and even threatens to buy Blitz a burger when he expresses some doubts. He’s energetic, cheerful and beaming despite looking almost _shocked_ at Montagne’s words fifteen minutes ago and it’s clear they are what caused the sudden joy which is met with a wide range of emotions from his teammates, anything between suspicion and earnest concern. And when Montagne kisses him at the end of the evening, puts an arm around his waist and initiates a scorching kiss, makes Blitz trail off mid-sentence and prompts stunned silence from those around him, Bandit kisses back just as enthusiastically.

 

The reply comes when he doesn’t expect it.

It has a bit of a lead up, begins with Bandit nibbling at the side of his neck in passing while Montagne is talking to someone else, continues with both of them side-eyeing each other across the room and morphs into the real thing when Bandit starts kissing him as soon as he closes the door behind them. They’ve had sex a few times now and it’s been wonderful every time, Bandit slowly coming apart under Montagne’s ministrations, beginning to really let loose and enjoy the journey instead of racing to their destination, allowing Montagne to set the pace as well as the mood. The latter is extremely important to him, he wants to be able to observe Bandit’s reactions, ensure both of them are getting the best possible experience, wants to kiss him endlessly and hold him close as they near their climax before ideally reaching it simultaneously.

After their first time, he expected Bandit to vaguely complain yet all he seemed to do was flop onto the bed and reevaluate his life choices, so it seems he did a good job.

By now, Bandit is a ball of impatience and excess energy as usual, ripping Montagne’s clothes off, dragging the both of them to the bed and shoving his tongue down Montagne’s throat, straddles him to push their erections together and sucks on him eagerly but once Montagne pushes a third finger inside him a while later, Bandit becomes as tame as a kitten. He mewls, helplessly paws at Montagne and purrs when he receives kisses or pets – by the time Montagne has lubed up his own erection, Bandit would roll over at his every command.

This night, once Montagne has completely buried himself in the tight heat and begun with a few tentative thrusts, Bandit inhales deeply, ribcage expanding and eyes widening. At first, he thinks something is wrong but Bandit urges him to continue, proves with a series of throaty moans that he is in fact enjoying himself immensely. He spreads out under Montagne, grabs the sheets with outstretched arms, lets his legs fall to the side of Montagne’s hips and just lounges on his back, content to let his lover do all the work as his eyes roll back into his skull. He seems to be in complete and utter ecstasy and the sight is so viciously erotic that Montagne can’t tear his gaze away, simply complies to the whispered pleas and sticks with the rhythm which is somewhere between fast and leisurely, keeps the angle and pushes deep inside – brushing over Bandit’s sweet spot if his involuntary noises are any indication.

Montagne finds most of his fulfilment in bed in the enjoyment of his partner, so seeing Bandit this open, vulnerable, _receptive_ , is addicting to the point where he promises himself to keep going until Bandit tells him to stop, ignoring potential muscle cramps because this, _this_ is absolutely breathtaking. It even makes him curious about what it is that Bandit feels, whether it’s possible for Montagne to feel the same as it _looks_ elating. But for the moment he focuses on his own movements, on Bandit’s hips beneath his palms, on the glassy-eyed look of pure pleasure on the familiar face – he hasn’t seen this expression before and he’s certain Bandit would be drooling were he lying on his front; he’s almost completely slack and merely whines quietly with each thrust, with each time Montagne fills his insides up completely.

A full-body trembling is all the warning Montagne gets, suddenly Bandit clenches around him and tenses up with a load groan and then he comes unexpectedly, without either of them having touched his erection which leaked profusely the entire time, without any further stimulation than Montagne’s thick shaft inside him. His legs trap Montagne in a vice-like grip as a few waves of shudders wrack his body, cause his dick to jump repeatedly and shoot sperm all over himself with each of them. He looks both blissful and completely in disbelief as he shakes, still impaled, and doesn’t calm down for an impressively long while, even throws his head back, bares his throat and lets out a few strangled moans while his fingers and legs twitch. It’s intense, so intense Montagne holds his breath through most of it, merely watches and memorises every little detail: the greedy gulps of air, the fluttering muscles, the copious amount of semen already running down Bandit’s sides.

They relax together, Montagne ignoring the insistent pull to keep going in favour of stroking over Bandit’s thighs, leaning over him and licking over his lips until he has the presence of mind to allow entry, kiss back lazily and hum into it. Even when they part again a while later, Bandit blinks up at him as if he’s still incapable of coherent speech, so Montagne gingerly withdraws and gently wipes Bandit clean as he simply continues lying on the bed bonelessly. Unsurprisingly, the first words escaping his mouth are: “Holy fucking shit.”

“That looked wonderful”, Montagne replies and joins him, drags him close and drapes the blanket over both of them to prevent Bandit from radiating all his body heat into the void.

“I have no idea what -”, Bandit interrupts himself, shakes his head slightly, “I mean, I _know_ what just happened. I just thought I – you know, it’s never happened before.”

Montagne is immediately intrigued. “Has it not?”

“No. Never. I thought people who claimed to be able to come hands free were bullshitting me.”

“Is that what it’s called?”

This time, Bandit catches on, probably notices something in the tone of his voice. “Don’t – we’re not gonna make a habit out of this. Look at me, I’m fucking useless. This isn’t the point of sex.” Montagne respectfully disagrees but keeps his opinion to himself. “I refuse to let you go to sleep horny, not again. Just give me a few minutes, alright?”

It takes exactly one for Bandit to fall asleep in Montagne’s arms.

 

The next day, Bandit is practically glued to his side. He is woken up by a killer blowjob which ends with him coming down Bandit’s throat (a feat in itself, Montagne’s previous partners have struggled) and it continues in that vein for the rest of the day. Montagne reads through a report while Bandit is draped over his back; when they eat lunch, Bandit’s feet are in his lap; when Montagne talks to someone in the lounge, Bandit stretches out on him; when they have to finally separate, Bandit rubs his cheek on his shoulder as an odd goodbye. He’s loving, peaceful, unable to get rid of the persistent smile on his lips and quite obviously freaking everyone out.

Normally, a happy Bandit equals a deranged Bandit but in this case, Montagne knows better. He bathes in all the attention he’s getting and gladly reciprocates it, so when Bandit calls him over to taste some soda he bought, Montagne doesn’t think twice about it.

“It’s actually really good”, Bandit reassures him and simply puts the can up to Montagne’s lips, tips it and allows him a taste before going back to drinking it himself. They manage not to spill a drop, have practised numerous times before when Bandit wanted to show him in excruciating detail how awful pretty much all British brands of beer are – the first few times, Montagne’s hands always happened to be full so Bandit usually caused a spillage, but after that, they got more adept at it and somehow made a habit out of it whenever Bandit has a can in his hands.

The stares, however, have worsened. Montagne supposes it’s a mix of their familiarity, the way Bandit’s voice softens as soon as he addresses Montagne and the fact that Bandit _shared_ something, anything with him. He doesn’t mind and his lover doesn’t either, merely awaits his judgement with raised brows and an expectant expression.

“It _is_ good”, Montagne agrees, it’s surprisingly refreshing and cool, some sort of lemonade and though he’d rather explore the taste of it on Bandit’s tongue, he’s content with this alternative as well. They share a quick nod and then Bandit returns to his conversation as if nothing happened and as if the people to whom he’s talking aren’t gaping at him like fish out of water.

Montagne turns to leave but is stopped by a hand on his wrist just as he’s about to step through the door. Bandit melts against him momentarily, buries his face in the crook of Montagne’s neck and murmurs it, almost too quiet to hear but it’s the reply Montagne has been waiting for and so he laughs in relief, kisses Bandit’s temple and ignores the attention they’re attracting.

Because no matter what anyone says, he knows how adorable Bandit is, has witnessed it himself and therefore no one could ever change his mind.


	10. Their first time

Bandit likes Montagne’s room.

It’s the on the comfortable side of tidy, not compulsively neat like Doc’s nor as barren as Pulse’s, more lived-in and welcoming without too many things strewn about. It’s not busy to look at, few decorations but all of them personal or specifically chosen, some photos of family, some of colleagues in GIGN, a few newspaper articles. Montagne collects small trinkets which ultimately don’t serve a practical purpose but are either beautifully crafted or possess an intricate mechanism: a puzzle box, a construction made of nothing but cogs, all movable simultaneously, an ancient kaleidoscope. He’s a fan of codes as well, even has a secret compartment built into one of the drawers in his desk but nothing interesting or blackmail-worthy in it – Bandit checked it as soon as he was left alone in his room for the first time.

The atmosphere is quiet. Thinking about it, it’s probably the calming effect the room in its entirety has on Bandit, the furniture and all the personal items exuding a strange tranquillity so unlike anywhere else in the base. Probably anywhere else full stop. He likes just _existing_ here, an oasis of peace amid his otherwise eventful life where he can do whatever he wants, where lazing is allowed and nothing expected of him. It’s a little like being on holiday – his only obligation is to enjoy his time, everything else is voluntary and every activity viable. Even if it’s ultimately useless, like encoding short messages with the help of one of the many books Montagne has collected on the topic and then depositing them in the secret compartment before burning the original. He doesn’t think Montagne uses it, ever, so a morbid part of him imagines himself dying on the job and leaving the sheets of paper behind as a gift.

Here’s something else Montagne doesn’t know: it’s remarkably easy to break into his room. Bandit usually manages in less than ten seconds, sometimes just to check whether it really is that easy, sometimes to drink his coffee alone while doing some paperwork, sometimes to just curl up on the couch and think of nothing for a bit. His own room is the exact opposite of a safe haven, it’s a temple of doubt and its gods are fear and anger. He probably conditioned himself to feel uncomfortable in it, associates it with loneliness and the aftermath of arguments he laughed off though parts of it cut deep. This one… these four walls he associates with nothing but comfort.

A small click makes him jerk awake out of a light doze – he’s been playing around on his phone while outstretched on the sofa and decided to snooze a little but didn’t expect Montagne to return, just like his lover quite clearly didn’t expect him to be here, judging by his astonished expression. He sits up and pretends to be wide awake even though he feels like he slept for hours, mouth wet on one side where he drooled on a pillow and him squinting into the bright light which Montagne, ever considerate, turns off in favour of his desk and bedside lamps. “Hey”, he mumbles and sounds almost drunk, “why you here already?”

Montagne graces him with a fond smile which grows when Bandit wipes his mouth. “How did you get in?”

“Squeezed through the window.” Both of them dubiously look over to the window right above the desk, the windowsill adorned with a small handful of ornate figurines bent from various metals and untouched. “Anyway, why are you back this early? Short dinner?”

“It’s half ten”, his lover tells him gently and oh shit, that means Bandit _did_ sleep for hours. Great, so later he won’t be able to, might even wake Montagne up in the middle of the night and he doesn’t want to do that, doesn’t want to be a burden. He frowns but Montagne walks over after having taken off his shoes, emptied his pockets of wallet, phone and keys, ready for cuddling but for now, all he does is tower over him and stroke his cheek until Bandit’s scowl fades. “Did someone let you in?”

“I’m not a fucking pet”, Bandit grumbles and rubs his cheek against Montagne’s palm appreciatively.

“So no one did? You broke in?” He sits down and allows Bandit to climb on top of him, rumpling his clothes in the process. They’re unusually fancy, courtesy of the special dinner he attended this evening – old friends were in the vicinity and so he and Doc invited them out. He smells good, fresh and manly and though Bandit likes the scent, he wants him to wash it off as soon as possible, mark him with his own smell somehow in case anyone gets funny ideas. His clothes make him look even more respectable and build a stark contrast to Bandit’s sweatpants and ill-fitting t-shirt but Montagne doesn’t seem to mind, embraces him regardless and even lets Bandit unbutton his subtly patterned dress shirt.

“Basically, yeah”, he admits while revealing more and more of Montagne’s sculpted chest, the dark hairs, the hard muscles underneath the pale skin.

“Did you miss me that much?”

His hands still. It’s meant as a joke, he knows this, and yet the words hit home. Because the only thing better at calming the storm raging inside him than Montagne’s room is Montagne himself. It’s not bad enough that he’s unable to complete daily tasks without him but he does indeed notice a prolonged absence, feels it keenly when they’re not sleeping next to each other. He’s gotten used to him. And he doesn’t even mind. “Yeah”, he replies quietly, “I guess I did.”

A silence follows. When he’s scraped together enough courage to lift his gaze, Montagne is looking at him with such helpless adoration that he immediately has to fight rising embarrassment about having laid himself open like this. Before he can backpedal, however, Montagne pulls him closer and effortlessly gets up, simply carries him to the bed and lies down on his back, Bandit still straddling him. “You’re so sweet. I miss you too, Dom, and I always look forward to seeing you.”

Okay, they’re delving dangerously far into uncomfortable territory now, Bandit trying not to let the words get to him (but they always do, like a plant he stretches towards the warmth they bring) and finishes his job in silence, pretending not to notice the way Montagne beams up at him as he pushes his shirt open and digs his fingertips into scorching skin, drags them down Montagne’s broad chest. A hand comes to rest on his cheek again for a moment, travels a bit and curls around the back of his head to nudge him towards his lover, making him bend down and lock lips with him. The pleasant smell together with the large body between his legs is making him light-headed, the soft lips moving against his own doing their part as well and so he doesn’t notice the hands on his thighs at first. When he finally does, they’re kneading his flesh, thumbs dangerously close to his crotch.

The message is clear and the blood rushing to the lower half of his body leaves him even dizzier – when Montagne isn’t in the mood, he carefully avoids sending the wrong signals so there’s no ambiguity. Normally, he prefers going to sleep directly after having been out late which is why Bandit didn’t expect anything yet he easily adapts to this change of pace by turning their kiss sloppy, licks over Montagne’s lower lip and sucks on it, purrs when the hands glide further back and massage his ass. Pleased about this new development, he deepens the kiss and begins grinding down against Montagne, reciprocating the smile he feels pulling at Montagne’s mouth. They’re on the same page and it’s tangible how much they both enjoy the lazy swirling of tongues, the friction of their lower halves, the simplicity of each other’s company.

After a while, long after Bandit can feel Montagne’s own erection alongside his, after their hands have roamed over skin, Bandit breaks the kiss and sits up, breathing hard. He’s adapting to Montagne’s slow pace over time, learning to cherish the small things like making Montagne’s shaft jump against his by brushing over one of his nipples, repeating the motion, rubbing over it, becoming more and more insistent over the course of minutes and relishing the moans when he finally pinches it properly. Still, there’s a limit and he’s about to reach it.

“Do you do this often?”, Montagne asks, voice thick with lust already, while Bandit unbuckles his belt impatiently, eager to do whatever it is he’s allowed today. He hopes he can blow him, it’s his absolute favourite way of getting Montagne off because for once, he doesn’t need to go slow simply because his lover takes forever like that anyway – he usually ends up with an aching jaw and a sore throat for which Montagne apologises endlessly since he doesn’t believe Bandit when he reassures him it’s worth it. “Come here, I mean. I somehow don’t believe that today was the first time you did.”

If it’d been the first time, he would’ve been more careful, Montagne is right. He delays answering for a bit by struggling with the trousers until Montagne takes pity on him and lifts his hips (and it’s such a turn on that he can do this even with Bandit’s weight on him) so Bandit can push the offending piece of clothing over them and down to his knees, where Montagne begins peeling them off himself. “Yeah. I do it sometimes. No one looks for me here and it’s quiet.” It’s only half the truth and he feels guilty about the adoration it earns because he knows Montagne is already content with this but would be overflowing with happiness if he knew the full reason. Bandit likes seeing him happy. After a small pause, he reluctantly adds: “It makes me think of you. And it calms me down.”

He’s not looking at him but can picture Montagne’s _reverent_ expression anyway, has seen it numerous times before and is always filled with a certain sense of pride when he causes it – that, and a tingling, warm feeling. The mountain underneath him comes alive, sits up and captures him in a tight hold, lips finding their way to the sensitive place right below Bandit’s ear and he hears himself gasp in return. “Dom”, they whisper against his skin and send a shiver down his spine, “I want you. All of you.”

Oh God. It’s finally happening.

Shakily, he responds with a strangled _yes_ , tries not to freak out too much and does so regardless. He’s been looking forward to this for weeks, months even, ever since they kissed the second time, even more after Montagne first touched him. Part of it is the base desire, the simple attraction drawing him towards this man, but another part is the wish to be as close to him as possible, be allowed to share this experience with him and if that doesn’t sound like the romanticised view of a blushing virgin, then what else does? Immediately, an overwhelming desire thrums through him and he barely manages to murmur: “Whatever you do, don’t touch my dick or I’ll come straightaway.”

An amused huff against his neck later, Montagne takes the lead.

Bandit has daydreamed about this moment extensively and narrowed it down to a few likely and a few preferred scenarios – he’s prepared to guide Montagne along, help him with crass words and instructions which both shock and arouse him, just like he’s ready to take control himself. More than ready. In most of his fantasies, he overpowers the taller man, makes him writhe in ecstasy as Bandit bounces on him, impales himself on his large cock over and over, though in others Montagne finally snaps, loses his patience and fucks him into next week because he just can’t help himself anymore. He pictured a spur-of-the-moment quickie, a drawn out session in which Montagne sadistically balances him on the edge for most of it, and none of it comes even close. Despite spending entirely too much time imagining this moment, he doesn’t expect what actually happens at all.

Because Montagne seduces him.

There’s no other way of putting it, he slowly takes him apart with loving words and affectionate gestures and Bandit has never felt this powerless in his life before. Montagne knows all his weakspots and makes ample use of this knowledge – he has Bandit squirming in his lap before he’s even taken his shirt off. All of his movements are fluid, a perfect string of kisses and strokes, lulling Bandit in the longer it goes on. His words are equally as smooth, pure honey running down Bandit’s skin and pooling low in his belly, an endless stream of compliments which are far from meaningless because Bandit knows he _means_ them, believes them from the bottom of his heart and so instead of empty, they’re so filled to the brim with devotion and admiration that he has no idea how to react.

Hands glide over his ribs while Montagne tells him how happy he is, how much he’s enjoying it all, and Bandit’s thoughts are trapped in molasses, slowed down by the sweetness poured over him that he decides to just not think at all. Never once does he try to wrestle control from Montagne since he’s never seemed more confident in bed, never more alluring. He’s putty in his astonishingly capable hands and not at all surprised when he suddenly finds himself on his back, his upper body naked and being showered in butterfly kisses. He moves under the affectionate ministrations, almost writhes when a tongue dips into his navel, he arches his back and cards a hand through dark hair – he doesn’t even have the presence of mind for anything more than that.

Soft moans fall from his lips, interrupted only by short but deep kisses; he’s never been this aroused in his life and yet he’s lacking the usual sense of urgency which accompanies his lust, probably because he’s too busy basking in all the wonderful things Montagne’s mouth and hands are doing to him. It’s an incredible turn-on to realise just how well acquainted Montagne is with his body, to feel first hand how attentive he can be especially since the idea of just leaning back and letting someone else do what they want with him is foreign. He supposes Montagne possesses vastly more experience in this regard, knows how to treat someone in a relationship and how to satisfy them in a very different way than Bandit does.

After a perceived eternity, his sweatpants are discarded as well, followed by his underwear and it’s an odd sensation to feel this vulnerable in front of someone. Montagne kisses and even sucks on the insides of his thighs, leaves light red marks next to the black ink weaving its way around his leg and by now, the lust is almost unbearable. Montagne complied with his request, hasn’t touched his crotch anywhere, is ignoring the painfully hard shaft very enthusiastically reacting to literally everything he does, jumping and oozing precum onto Bandit’s belly. His hands are shaking and his knees are weak with how much he wants this, so when Montagne undresses fully and conjures up a bottle of lube, Bandit is almost ready to beg.

The foreplay so far left him out of breath and worryingly dizzy but it seems Montagne isn’t nearly done. He leans over the small puddle into which Bandit has transformed over time and licks into his mouth while touching a slick finger to his hole, making it quiver in anticipation. Bandit, unchanged, is unable to take the initiative and instead suffers quietly, mewls against Montagne’s tongue and feels sparks of pleasure whenever the digit moves, presses slightly, threatens to invade him. It’s effective though, he relaxes after a while and inhales sharply when he’s being breached. There’s a pause and he opens his eyes, doesn’t remember when he closed them, only to find Montagne smiling down at him. He’s beautiful and so perfect it fucking hurts to look at him, he’s sharp and intense and sees all the way inside Bandit, unravels him effortlessly.

He can’t take it. He averts his gaze, even turns around with some difficulty which makes it better because now he can hide his face in the same pillow which muffles his moans when Montagne crooks his finger tentatively and rubs over his prostate. Bandit is so mindlessly horny that the simple touch lets him see stars and so he eagerly pushes against the digit to repeat the sensation. Montagne is still leaning over him, heavy erection resting on one of Bandit’s asscheeks, and still he’s leaving kisses all over his shoulders, nibbles at his ear or sucks on the side of his neck. He’s a reassuring weight against Bandit’s back, hot and solid and he wishes they could do it like this, have Montagne drive into him with abandon while the sheets swallow all the embarrassing noises he’ll undoubtedly make but he already knows it’s not going to happen.

For the moment, he enjoys the brief respite from Montagne’s intensity, makes use of the opportunity to let loose a bit and tightens around the finger, lifts his hips and sighs in relief when Montagne gets the hint and adds a second one. The stretch is tangible but far from uncomfortable, thus Bandit begins grinding against the two, feels the thick shaft rub over his skin in the process and he’s going to go insane. This will be the end of him. A dramatic arch of his back is the perfect position for him to fuck himself on Montagne’s fingers _and_ have his dick glide over Bandit’s ass, therefore he very carefully repeats his motions at the exact same angle and height. The friction is amazing, the feel of the digits moving deep inside addictive and Montagne is still peppering him with kisses which by now have turned hungry, wet lips trailing up to his earlobe and teeth cautiously biting at it.

“I want you so much”, the solid weight on top of him whispers and Bandit almost _sobs_ in pleasure, in desire, in desperation, “you’re wonderful. I can’t get enough of you.” He shifts the one hand which keeps him upright and takes one of Bandit’s, squeezes when he interlaces their fingers and no, how did Bandit think simply turning away would allow him to escape this intimacy, it’s still _Montagne_ after all, everything he does resonates in Bandit’s heart, steals the words off his tongue and drives blood into his cheeks. What they’re doing should be sinful, Montagne pushes a third finger in and wrenches a loud groan from Bandit who only speeds up his motions, moans each time fingertips drag over his special spot – and yet it’s not, it doesn’t feel wrong or dirty. It feels divine.

Eventually, Montagne stops him, sits up and makes Bandit feel the loss of him keenly, miss the hand on his, the stretch, the hot flesh against his ass, the teeth on his shoulder. And then, there it is, a soft plea embodying all that he’s afraid of: “Turn around.” Bandit does. As much as he doesn’t want to, there’s no choice.

They look at each other and Montagne is a mirror to Bandit’s expression – flushed, wholly lost in the moment, wanton, yet oddly peaceful. Bandit thought he’d never fully understand why Montagne thinks about sex the way he does.

He was wrong.

“You’re all I ever wanted”, Montagne tells him and it’s clear he’s not joking. Bandit’s lower lip starts trembling. He looks away again, scrambles to regain his composure, put it back together from the fragments into which it just shattered and largely fails. “Are you ready?”

He nods straightaway, replies with a _yes_ on which his voice breaks and gasps when Montagne simply presses their lips together for the moment. The kiss helps, grounds him and calms the staccato of his heart so when his lover withdraws again, they both manage a tentative smile. He plucks the bottle out of Montagne’s hand and squeezes some of the viscous liquid into his palm – normally he’d crack a joke now or say something exceedingly filthy but he doesn’t feel the urge to say anything right now, it doesn’t seem appropriate. He simply admires Montagne’s body for a moment, drinks in the long limbs and toned muscles, the strong upper body and dark fuzz covering it. When he wraps his hand around his cock, Montagne groans and strokes over Bandit’s arms, loath to interrupt his displays of affection for even just a second. His erection is silky to the touch, as hot as the rest of him and rock hard. Montagne is probably as desperate to start as he is.

Bandit lets his hand slide up and down a few times more than necessary, loves the weight of the shaft in his palm but realises the next step is worth stopping for. Expectantly, he lies back down and lovingly gazes up at Montagne who looks down at him with a similar expression before scooting closer, and then suddenly his tip is nestled against Bandit and he can’t breathe. The skin on skin contact is electrifying already, so viciously anticipated that he finds it impossible to relax into it, his body taut and pulsing with lust but this is counter-productive, he _needs_ to relax. As if he can sense it, Montagne takes his time, puts Bandit’s legs around his waist, pets his chest and kisses him once more, all the while his head keeps pressing slightly against Bandit’s ring of muscle, gingerly asking for entry which eventually is granted and enforced by Bandit drawing him in, tensing his legs and dragging the body between them closer.

Montagne slips inside and he’s _big_ , there’s a faint burn which only heightens Bandit’s pleasure, but more importantly than that: they’ve become one. Both of them look down to the place where they’re connected, Bandit chewing on his lip while trying to breathe normally, not clamp down and hinder any movement. Very slowly, Montagne pushes deeper, making a space for himself inside Bandit and the slide feels neverending – he’s thick _and_ long, a challenge but extremely satisfying nonetheless. Bandit helps as much as he can but is mostly overwhelmed by the incredible sensation, Montagne is piping hot and the fact that there’s no layer separating them only increases the heady feeling. When he’s fully buried inside, his lover draws a deep breath and admits quietly: “I was worried it wouldn’t fit.”

They laugh softly, the tension dissipated for the moment, and grin at each other again, somehow closer than before. Bandit revels in the feeling of being filled completely, puts his hands on Montagne’s dimpling cheeks and drags him down for another kiss. “I’m so glad we’re doing this.”

Montagne nods. “Me too.”

When he starts moving, it’s back to the barrage of indescribable sensations Bandit experienced earlier, the kind which leaves him speech- and breathless, messes with his head and refuses to let him move for fear of it all disappearing. He feels Montagne push back inside and moans in disbelief – it feels so fucking good he might be able to come just from this, without his dripping erection ever having been touched. Even this part, which is meant to be carnal and unrestrained, somehow ends up sweet and intense at Montagne’s hands, as if he could turn everything he touches into pure elation.

He just lies there and takes it, gladly accepts his fate and moans throatily each time the head brushes over his prostate, which happens a _lot_. The thrusts are neither particularly hard nor fast but they push him into the mattress regardless, force more and more noises out of his mouth and steadily work towards reducing him to a shuddering mess. Montagne keeps his pace mercilessly, never once speeds up, no matter how hard Bandit pulls or pushes, causing him to start meeting the thrusts to get the most enjoyment out of them. He reaches so deep inside that Bandit is almost scared to allow him deeper but does so anyway, trusts him fully. Now that he’s got Montagne here, between his legs, inside, he’s a little lost on what to do because he knows begging won’t change anything, neither will dirty talk and he has no urge to gain the upper hand either. Instead, he decides to just be content with the ebb and flow of shocking pleasure and soft lips on his own.

This time, the kiss is almost lazy yet still more than just an afterthought, Montagne wants to be even closer to him than they already are and Bandit can’t take it. He feels so good, loves every part of it so much that he’s close to panicking, unsure of what to do with all these emotions suddenly welling up in him – the connection they share is profound, full of meaning and mutual understanding and it’s in that moment that Montagne says: “Look at me.”

And Bandit does. He looks up, defenceless, and returns Montagne’s gaze, feels every inch of him withdraw and slide back in, feels his hips move between his legs, feels his hand on his chin and fingers caressing his jaw, feels his own heart grow at all of these wonderful ministrations. “Keep looking at me”, Montagne demands quietly, asks for the impossible, “we’re going to come at the same time, alright?”

He just nods – any other answer is not an option – and realises with sudden clarity just _how_ aroused he is. Being face to face with the object of his desire is only making things worse, leaves him squirming and panting, even more so when he realises that Montagne normally takes so much longer to come but right now seems to be heavily affected himself. It’s fantastic for the both of them, a thoroughly mind-blowing experience and they’ve only been at it for a few minutes.

No, Bandit corrects himself, it’s not just the penetration itself, it’s _everything_ which made him this desperate, he usually doesn’t spend this much time on everything else, but Montagne worshipped his body, showered him in affection and Bandit even accepted it, didn’t feel odd or undeserving, just… happy. Blissful about the fact that Montagne likes him so much he does all this without even being asked to, that he likes him so much he’s making love to him right now because that’s exactly what he’s doing – again, there’s no other word for it. He overpowered Bandit with all his love and now strips him bare, leaving only the essence of his being and he still loves him for it, Bandit can see it in his dark eyes.

They’re both moaning quietly in between kisses, relishing the friction between their legs, the monumental pleasure building and building towards yet another moment they’ll share. Bandit is clinging to the taller man by now, keeping up their eye contact and noticing every change in Montagne’s expression, the way he gasps when Bandit tenses around him, how he smiles when Bandit hums into a kiss, him growing more and more disbelieving with each thrust. He’s visibly enjoying himself, tells Bandit now and then how good he feels, how stunning he looks, how happy he makes him and it’s nothing like anything Bandit normally does but it feels like filling a hole which made him trip over and over throughout the years, a hole he tried to fill with a variety of things none of which were good enough, they all came loose, tripped him even more, and now – now it’ll fade. Slowly. But it will.

He notices the signs that Montagne is getting close, the increase in volume, his motions becoming irregular, and so Bandit finally does what he’s been wanting to this entire time: snakes one of his hands between their bodies and grips his own glistening erection tightly, gasps at the contact and begins dragging himself onto Montagne’s shaft with his legs. As soon as his lover notices, he ceases all movement, allows Bandit to take over and they’re _still_ looking at each other, continue to do so as Bandit digs his heels into the mattress and drives himself onto the hard dick, despair colouring his actions as he frantically chases his release yet is too focused on his hips to build up a steady rhythm with his hand, ends up half-assing both, moans in frustration and Montagne looks at him like he hung the stars.

“I’m so close”, he says and how can he be when Bandit is doing such a terrible job at satisfying them both, he’s throwing his head back and slams his hips against Montagne’s, curses and falters when his free hand is grabbed again and held tightly by Montagne and now they’re kissing, even _more_ he has to concentrate on, though if he’s honest most of his focus is on the marvellous cock inside him and then his fist tightens around his sopping wet dick and Montagne starts moving again, bottoms out with every long, slow, _deep_ stroke and Bandit’s gone.

A high-pitched moan is what kicks it off, a reaction to the realisation that he’s just been pushed over the edge and though it hasn’t started fully yet, he knows there’s no going back now. His hand flies over his shaft and he tenses up his entire body, stays still as Montagne mercilessly keeps thrusting, keeps hitting his prostate with worrying accuracy, and allows him to push his orgasm out of him. When the contractions begin, the wonderful, magnificent trembling which spreads through his entirety, his eyes roll back into his head and he feels his erection pulse between his fingers, become a veritable fountain of come which it spews generously all over Bandit’s torso – but it’s even better because Montagne is _also_ climaxing, cock throbbing and mouth letting out the most delicious of noises. They seek each other out, find comfort in the intensity of each other, ride their orgasm out at the same time while Montagne spills deep inside Bandit, their foreheads leaning against each other, their breath mingling.

They’re both shuddering now, twitching with how extreme it is, they’re out of breath and elated and basking in their shared pleasure, Bandit drawing out his orgasm with practised movements and Montagne canting his hips, fully sheathed still. Coming down is hesitant, Montagne initiates it by brushing his nose over Bandit’s, prompting an exhausted smile which he reciprocates and suddenly they’re grinning at each other like idiots while still feeling the aftershocks. Bandit’s blood is still rushing loudly in his ears and his heartbeat far from calm but none of it can disturb the peace spreading somewhere inside him, the feeling of being appreciated, of being cherished. He relaxes more and more over time, stretches out on the bed and winces slightly when Montagne withdraws – he really is quite large but feels amazing so Bandit would never consider complaining.

Usually, this is the part where either Bandit or his partner gets up, cleans up, has a smoke or goes for a shower. He, however, is so boneless that he’s not going _anywhere_ right now and judging by the fact that Montagne simply lies down next to him and caresses his side, his thighs and his face, he isn’t either. It’s similar to the way he insisted on eye contact, makes it all that little bit more personal, more special. More intimate. Even so, Bandit is wholly overwhelmed for the moment, trying to get his breathing under control and not throw himself on top of Montagne immediately because he’s full of semen and has the sneaking suspicion his lover wouldn’t appreciate sperm all over his chest hair. Instead, he stares at the ceiling, slightly stupefied by how much he adored literally every aspect of what just happened and wondering whether he’s been doing it wrong his entire life.

“I liked that”, Montagne tells him as if it wasn’t absolutely obvious, “thank you.” Before Bandit can even think of making a sarcastic reply, a thumb wanders to his mouth, traces his lips and stills when he kisses it, sucks on the tip of it and bites lightly, all without taking his eyes off Montagne whose gaze grows considerably warmer. “You’re so incredibly erotic, Dom, do you even know that?”

He smirks and reaches out to push some of Montagne’s sweaty locks back. “I might have an idea. You came much faster than usual”, he teases.

“It’s because I didn’t expect you to feel this good. You’re amazing.”

And oh. Oh look. Bandit’s plan to embarrass his lover for once backfired horribly since now it’s _him_ blushing yet again and trying to hide his face but as usual, Montagne just locks lips with him and kisses the urge to become defensive away.

The rest of the evening is calm, they shower together and Bandit almost dozes off while Montagne gently massages his scalp with shampoo, but his favourite part is when he’s being wrapped in one of the oversized towels of which Montagne is so fond and basically hugged dry, twists and turns in Montagne’s embrace while they both giggle and in the end he’s being slung over the tall man’s shoulder and carried to bed without being able to struggle from inside his towel burrito. Once they’re snuggling under the blanket, he asks about Montagne’s evening and his friends, about Doc, about parts of his past and it’s not even disheartening to hear about the life Montagne led before they knew each other, not when he’s safely encased in his strong arms and with his breath in Bandit’s hair.

He’s not tired yet so he’ll probably wait until Montagne is asleep to get back up and read something on his sofa, but there’s one last sentence with which all his illusions about not being in over his head are shattered: “I’ll give you a key tomorrow morning.”

It’s simple enough but the profound _joy_ spreading at the words makes him realise.

 _Fuck_ , he thinks. _I’m so fucking doomed_.


	11. Bandit keeps Monty up

Montagne yawns for the third time in a row and it’s a vicious one, a yawn which makes him tear up and shudder and shake his head afterwards to try and clear it of the residual fatigue yet fails spectacularly. His vision blurs if he sits still long enough and his concentration is waning the further the day progresses. It’s only lunch hour and he’s more than ready for a nap, even contemplates just resting his head on the wooden surface of the table at which he’s sitting for a few minutes but figures he’d probably slam his forehead into his sandwich instead if he actually decided to go for it.

“Didn’t get enough sleep last night?”, asks Rook cheekily and nudges his side with an elbow. The young operator is wearing a wide grin and Montagne knows why – he’s one of the few who openly show nothing but support for them. It’s a relief to have someone with whom he can share details of just how much Bandit’s and his own life are interwoven at this point; his heart is bursting with all the joy he’d like to spread, even with the most recent outlet of being allowed to kiss Bandit in public. He frequently makes use of it, stops Bandit, lifts his chin gently and presses their lips together; leans around him and catches the corner of his mouth with his or pulls him onto his lap for a series of deep, intimate kisses. Mentioning to Rook how calming it is to wake up and find Bandit drooling on his pillow next to him sates a different kind of need, however, soothes an odd striving for validation.

Neither of them should feel ashamed of each other or their own feelings and Rook is doing his part in chasing away this notion. Bandit especially seems to need it and he’s begun hanging around the young Frenchman more than before, embarrassedly waving away any comments on their relationship or switching topics as soon as Rook brings it up, and yet Bandit continues to seek him out a lot of the time.

“No, not really”, Montagne answers readily and suppresses a sigh. He’s not complaining, far from it, he had all reason not to sleep.

“Did you keep him up, Dom?” Rook isn’t done with his inquiries and directs this one at a similarly groggy-looking Bandit who’s just finishing up his meal and halfway out the room already. The implication couldn’t have been more obvious and so, when Bandit responds with a simple _yeah_ , Rook dissolves into scandalised giggles. It’s just as easy to tell what he’s thinking as it is to guess everyone else’s thoughts. Most of them seem to assume Rook is correct, only with the addition that Bandit is a crazed sex fiend who is wilfully costing Montagne his well-deserved respite, some believe Bandit is merely looking for attention and keeping Montagne up as a test of how much he cares and fewer people still – mostly the GSG9 – are convinced it’s Bandit’s nightmares making it impossible for them to enjoy peaceful sleep.

They’re all wrong, albeit to varying degrees.

Sometimes, Montagne wakes up to an empty bed in the middle of the night. He knows he’s being given a choice: either he gets up and joins Bandit in his insomnia or he turns around and keeps sleeping – it’d definitely be possible for him to drift away back into unconsciousness and Bandit wouldn’t blame him, quite the opposite. And yet Montagne always leaves the cosy, warm bed behind. It’s still a choice, even if the decision he makes is unfailingly the same.

Last night, he found Bandit browsing his phone while seeking shelter in a spare blanket, an inadequate substitution for Montagne’s body heat and yet Bandit’s preferred option over risking disturbing Montagne’s sleep by moving too much. The first thing he does is ensure Bandit is safe, pulls him into his arms, onto his lap, listens for his heartbeat and his breathing. Since both are regular and calm, he focuses on different things, brushes over the back of Bandit’s neck with his nose, rubs his limbs until he can be sure they’re not numb and murmurs a few easy-to-answer questions about the things Bandit’s been reading on the small, much too bright screen. Once he’s thawed, Montagne sucks a light lovebite onto his shoulder, making him squirm and swat at him in protest but both of them end up chuckling over each other.

This is when Montagne knows he’s won. This is the point where Bandit stops all pretence of telling him to go back to bed, of not wanting him to stay up. Instead, he accepts Montagne’s presence, quietly grateful, and treats him like he would during the day, complaining about this thing or that, asking about a few things which preoccupied Montagne before, and suggesting some activities. They’ve found a good balance between hobbies they prefer doing alone or with others and ones they actually do together, regardless of whether they’d be interested in them by themselves or not. Bandit has started spending more time in the shooting range just because Montagne visits it often and Montagne goes out drinking more frequently now even though he doesn’t drink much – but neither does Bandit. He hasn’t gone overboard once since Montagne joined him and it seems he prefers it this way, too. He off-handedly mentioned sometimes being unable to stop, a problem which apparently vanishes in Montagne’s company.

While Montagne recounts how Rook was able to make Blitz blush furiously earlier, Bandit’s stomach growls comically loud – this is yet another one of the grievances Montagne has with the way Bandit treats himself: he forgets to eat. If he didn’t know better, if he didn’t know it really was just absent-mindedness and a general lack of self-care, he’d think Bandit was deliberately starving himself as some strange kind of punishment. It’s improved significantly already but if Montagne doesn’t check up on him regularly, he still can’t be sure of Bandit’s eating habits.

They end up in the kitchen at Montagne’s gentle insistence, illuminated only by the warm light of the kitchen hood and dancing around each other as Montagne prepares some French toast and Bandit is absolutely _useless_ and nothing but in the way and giggles every time Montagne has to move him. He does this often and never once has Montagne minded because whenever he brushes past Bandit, a hand reaches out to touch various parts of his body or a kiss is pressed against his skin or a cheek rubbed on his upper arm. Bandit knows they both like it and enjoys the fact Montagne doesn’t get annoyed or impatient with him, merely fondly exasperated. While Montagne uses the stove, Bandit squeezes in between, leeches the heat from both and starts distractedly humming an unfamiliar melody as he slowly melts against Montagne’s front.

Eventually, he starts actually singing and Montagne is surprised to hear it’s neither out of tune nor lacking presence, it’s a bit self-conscious but done well regardless of the lyrics: “And maybe we’ll do / in a squirrel or two / while we’re poisoning pigeons in the park.” Montagne’s snickering boosts his confidence and so he continues, louder: “We’ll murder them all amid laughter and merriment / except for the few we take home to experiment.”

It’s morbid and right up Bandit’s alley, so Montagne prompts him to keep going. A few verses he enjoys silently but he relishes the hitch in Bandit’s voice when he reaches around and hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants even more. Normally, Montagne would never initiate anything in a place where they could get caught but it’s the middle of the night and the way Bandit keeps _accidentally_ brushing up against his crotch left Montagne fidgety anyway. The song dies on Bandit’s lips as soon as fingers encircle his awakening member and makes way for soft moans which turn more frantic after Montagne has turned him around and sunk to his knees. He hasn’t done this before yet is eager to try all of a sudden, engulfs the head and licks and sucks, tries to remember all the divine things Bandit usually does to him and doesn’t seem to be doing a terrible job if Bandit’s disbelieving groans mean anything.

He’s so focused on memorising all of Bandit’s sensitive spots that he doesn’t notice the smell until Bandit, dishevelled, blissful and clearly annoyed at the interruption, announces: “The fucking _toast_!”

The next five minutes are filled with heartfelt curses from Bandit’s side as Montagne throws away the charred pieces, long forgotten in the pan, and fries up new toast slices – properly this time. He insists on Bandit eating it all immediately despite the boner tenting his trousers and once his lover is done complaining and eating, they rid the kitchen of any evidence and return to their room. Montagne unsuccessfully tries to make Bandit come hands free for more than half an hour at which point Bandit is desperately begging, almost shying away from his thrusts and moaning at a worrying volume while digging his fingernails into Montagne’s thighs, so he finishes inside and continues practising with his mouth until he’s worried about Bandit starting to hyperventilate any second now. He strokes him in a slow but steady pace all the way through his climax, kissing him simultaneously and swallowing his noises as Bandit trembles under him.

Unlike most other nights, they stayed up, showered together first and went for a quick run in the rising summer sun, lazily smiling at each other now and then but exercising in comfortable silence. Montagne believes he knows why Bandit didn’t want to try sleeping, not even when they had two whole hours still: it’s the fact that this time in the dead of night is wholly _theirs_ , with no one interfering or even the possibility of being interrupted. Montagne has begun toying with the idea of suggesting they move in together.

So when he’s trying his best not to fall asleep in the middle of the day while waiting for a briefing, he isn’t fully aware of his actions until Rook jabs him in the side again and wants to know: “What are you humming?”

Montagne recalls the melody and can’t help but laugh. “A song about poisoning pigeons”, he replies, much to Rook’s confusion, and catches Bandit’s eye on the other side of the room. When his lover flashes him a grin, Montagne decides to ask him later. He suspects Bandit’s initial reaction will be as negative as his ultimate answer positive, so he better raise the topic sooner rather than later.

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit [my tumblr](http://kiruuuuu.tumblr.com/) if you'd like to say hi ❤ I'm much more active there :)


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